


NaNoWriMo 2019 - The Light of the Crystal

by vesaldi



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Multi, Patch 5.1 spoilers, Shadowbringers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesaldi/pseuds/vesaldi
Summary: A collection of drabbles for each day of November, for NaNoWriMo. Each day will be a different short story based on the prompts listedhere.Each chapter will have individual content warnings in the chapter summary when applicable.





	1. Permission (Alisaie and Alphinaud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: INCLUDES SHADOWBRINGERS SPOILERS.]  
Alisaie is newly arrived to Norvrandt, and she's not taking it very well.

She sat alone in her room fuming, going over what had happened in her mind again and again. She could see her friend's outstretched hand, just inches away, and before she could touch it the world had gone dark. When she awoke, she found herself in a strange place, face to face with a mysterious man.

"You aren't supposed to be here," the man had said. He called himself the Crystal Exarch, and explained that he was trying to summon the Warrior of Light. She had scarcely allowed him to finish speaking before thoroughly berating him. What if the Warrior of Light had needed her? What if suddenly collapsing in the midst of battle had put them all at risk? She wasn't able to see his face beneath the heavy cowl he wore, but she was sure the Exarch had winced under the ferocity of her attack.

"Alisaie!"

She turned her head to see Alphinaud standing in the arch of the door, looking more relieved than she'd ever seen him in all her sixteen years. Were she to be honest, the relief she felt to see him well rivaled his own, but the anger she felt at the Exarch remained unquenched.

"So, you've been _here_ this entire time?" Alisaie snapped with more spite than she had intended. The jab stopped him clear in his tracks, and he looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Are you... angry with _me_?" Alphinaud asked, sounding — and looking — entirely perplexed. "Have you not spoken with the Exarch?"

"Oh, I've spoken with His Highness," Alisaie growled, standing and turning to face her brother. "To think all this time, he was _summoning_ us like primals! The man is a fool."

"Alisaie, I think perhaps it would be best if—"

The glare she gave him did more to silence him than any words could. "I am well and truly _not_ in the mood for another one of your pretentious lectures, Alphinaud."

There was a moment of deafening silence between the two as they stood, staring at each other from across the room. Finally, Alphinaud dared to take a few steps closer. "You _are_ allowed to express emotions other than anger, Alisaie."

"I don't need your _permission_ to feel things!" she barked, but no sooner had the words escaped her lips than she felt those same emotions begin to well up inside her. Her breath caught in her throat and she could feel a single tear begin to form at the corner of her eye. _Oh gods, don't let him see me cry. I'll never hear the end of it._

Alisaie was caught completely off guard when, instead of speaking, Alphinaud simply moved forward and put his arms around her in an awkward hug. She felt the tear roll down her cheek into her brother's collar, and after a moment of awkward stiffness she returned the hug, gripping him tightly.

"I thought I had lost you," she finally muttered, her face half buried in his collar. "We were the only ones left, and I... I thought..."

Alphinaud finally pulled away and smiled at her in silence, for once opting not to add his two gil.

"How long have you been here?" Alisaie finally asked as she brushed a lingering tear from her cheek. "The Exarch said time flowed differently, but I… well, didn't really give him much of a chance to explain."

"A few weeks," Alphinaud replied, "and they have been the most exciting _and_ most boring of my life."

"I don't understand," Alisaie said with a frown. "How could they be both?"

"It's been exciting to explore this new world," he replied with what could only be described as a smirk. "The implications for aetherology are _staggering_."

_There's the boring, know-it-all I know._

"But... it's been lonely without you here," he added somberly. "Not that I _wished_ you to be here, but I missed you nonetheless."

_Excuse me?_ The fire in her eyes was suddenly and fiercely rekindled. "You didn't _want_ me here?"

Alphinaud's eyes widened. "I didn't mean it _that_ way," he assured her defensively. "It's just — Twelve save me, you truly didn't listen to a word the Exarch said, did you?"

For a moment Alisaie couldn't decide if she should be angry with him or if she should just admit that she had no idea what was going on. "I... may have been a bit hasty."

"There's a lot to explain," Alphinaud told her. "I _am_ pleased to see you, it's just... well, the nature of our circumstances is less than ideal."

"And I'm certain you have an entire monologue prepared," Alisaie responded with a roll of her eyes as he pulled up a chair to sit down beside her, though she couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She really _had_ missed him — lectures and all.

"I'll try to make it brief," he promised with a smile of his own. "It all began with the Crystal Tower..."


	2. Hidden (Oboro and Karasu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: INCLUDES LEVEL 80 NINJA QUEST SPOILERS, ALCOHOL USE]  
The scroll has finally been retrieved from Karasu... or so they thought. When "Oboro" is revealed to be an imposter, the team asks the important question: where is the REAL Oboro?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story deviates from the canon quest story. The Warrior of Light featured in the story is [rinjirenee's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinjirenee) V'hesko Tia.

"Well, it has been a simply marvelous morning," Oboro announced, standing up from the table with a flourished bow, "but I must now take my leave. Farewell, my friends!"

Before any of them could so much as utter a word, Oboro was gone. The group looked between themselves, one after the other, before settling their looks on V'hesko.

"Yeah, that wasn't Oboro," he confirmed with a sigh.

"Yer sayin' that was Karasu, then?" V'kebbe asked with a frown. "But I thought he was so convincin'."

"Kebbe, yer lucky yer a right dimber mot," Jacke replied with a shake of his head, turning back to the Warrior of Light. "Reckon he cloyed back the scroll?"

V'hesko nodded in agreement. "I'll swallow my dagger if he didn't."

"But if that was Karasu," Underfoot added, "then where is the _real_ Oboro?"

"Karasu's a queer cove, to be sure," Jacke mused, "but I don't think he'd hurt the lad."

V'hesko thought to himself for a moment. "I think I have an idea of where he might be."

"Good luck, mate," Jacke called after him as V'hesko left the table. He turned to see V'kebbe staring at him. "What?"

"D'ye just call me a buffle afore our good friend V'hesko?" she asked, her arms folded over her chest.

"A'course I'd never suggest such a thing!" Jacke quickly assured her, hands up. "I've seen ye on end and I've no wish for a reprise."

"Good," she replied with a near threatening look in her eyes. "I'm sure ye recall the last time ye vexed me."

"Aye," Jacke assured her with a nervous laugh. "Keenly."

* * *

Oboro groaned loudly, pulling the bedsheets up over his head and willing his body to melt into the mattress. The storehouse was dark, and yet it still felt like the sun was shining directly into his eyes. He had no idea what had happened, but for the first time in his life he longed for the sweet embrace of an early death. Surely it would be less painful than this.

"Rise and shine, my friend," a voice boomed from what he was sure was directly next to his ear. Oboro simply groaned in response, but yelped as he felt the sheets being torn from the bed.

"Begone, fiend!" he managed to croak as he tried to will his eyes to focus enough to identify the intruder.

"Come now," V'hesko replied, "is that any way to speak to your dearest friend in all of Eorzea?"

"...V'hesko...?"

"The one and only," he replied with a grin, his eyes glancing downward. "Well, at least he left you your smallclothes..."

"What...?" Oboro asked, blinking twice and looking about the room. "Where... and why am I...?"

As it occurred to him that he couldn't remember how he'd made his return to the storehouse nor how he'd misplaced all of his clothes, Oboro bolted out of bed, only to fall flat on the floor. He groaned and placed a hand to his pounding head.

V'hesko crouched down next to him, a serious look now gracing his features. "Do you remember _anything _that happened last night?"

Oboro squinted, half in pain and half in concentration. "I remember our plan to steal back the scroll," he began, "and my plan to... uh oh..."

"Your plan to what?" V'hesko asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps the rice wine was stronger than I expected...?" Oboro mused, glancing up. V'hesko stared at him with a blank expression on his face, almost as if his mind had wandered elsewhere. "V'hesko? V'hesko, are you alright...?"

Oboro waved his hand in front of his friend's face to no effect, but little did he know that the Echo would tell the story he couldn't remember.

* * *

"Perhaps you are not so dim as I believed, Oboro," Karasu said, pouring himself another cup of wine. "I fully expected this wine to bored me nearly as much as you."

"You think me boring?" Oboro scoffed, halfway through his third cup of wine. "I am not _boring!"_

"You have certainly bored me thus far," Karasu countered with an impish grin. "Ever three steps behind."

"It has been less than three!"

Karasu laughed as Oboro's face immediately fell into a blush. "I may have been hasty in my assessment of your entertainment value."

Oboro quaffed the rest of the wine before grabbing the jug and taking a long swig. He had heard others in Eorzea speak of 'liquid courage' before and figured it could do little harm. After all, he only needed distract Karasu and meet V'hesko to collect what was rightfully theirs.

"I will show you who's boring," Oboro grumbled, wiping a few drops of rice wine away from the corner of his mouth before setting the jug back down on a nearby stone. And with one last deep breath, he began.... to dance.

"The audience _gasps_ in surprise!" Karasu announced, seeming a little surprised himself. "The dim one can dance? What a shock to one and all."

Oboro's feet trudged sluggishly through the calf deep water, pleased as Karasu took a seat to watch him intently. He did his best to focus on the movements, trying to capture what he remembered of the Hingan dance they had both learned as children. Despite his best efforts, he could feel his foot begin to slide out from beneath him on the slippery stone below.

With the lightning fast reflexes that came with being a shinobi, Karasu bolted up to catch him, and Oboro found himself mere inches from his childhood friend's face. "You do truly earn your title, do you not, Oboro the dim?"

"I don't need your help!" Oboro complained, trying to wriggle himself free from Karasu's grasp. Rather than freeing himself, he managed to place them both off-balance, and with a loud splash the two found themselves tumbling into the water.

Karasu was quiet for a moment as they laid there in a tangled mess, the water nearly covering them. "Well this certainly wasn't in the script," he finally managed with significantly less theatric flair than usual. "Exactly how much of that rice wine did you drink?"

"Uhhh..." Oboro began to try to count the number of cups in his head, but found himself distracted as he realized _just_ how close Karasu was. The man had done nothing to change their precarious positioning, Oboro was surprised when he felt Karasu's lips on his.

There was an awkward silence between them for a moment, before Karasu's impish grin returned. "Well, well, perhaps I shall have to call you Oboro the bold."

"You... how dare..."

"Oboro the dim, it is," Karasu added with a sigh, reaching down the pull Oboro from the water. "The audience groans with disappointment."

"Unhand me, fiend!" he complained as Karasu set him down on the rock next to the nearly empty jug of wine.

"As exciting as it would be for the villain to meet an untimely end in a shallow pond, my friend, I would much rather meet again," Karasu explained with a smirk. "Besides, I believe your friend is waiting for me."

"W-wait..."

"Farewell again, dim one," Karasu returned with a bow. He turned and headed away from the springs as Oboro slumped deeper into the water.

* * *

V'hesko blinked twice as he emerged from his Echo vision. Oboro still stared at him in confusion.

"Are you quite alright?" the shinobi asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I am more than alright," V'hesko explained with a smirk. "How are _you_ feeling? Remember _anything_ at all?"

"Unfortunately, no," Oboro confirmed. "I recall the wine, but it must have been stronger than I expected. Or I drank more than I should have..."

"That's a shame," V'hesko replied, the smile still on his face much to Oboro's chagrin.

"How did I get back here to the storehouse?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, I have some good news and some bad news," V'hesko began, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "The bad news is that Karasu pretended to be you and stole back the scroll."

"Damn it all," Oboro growled. "What of the good news?"

"The good news is we had a _wonderful_ meal with Fake You, and I brought some back for you," V'hesko replied with a grin to rival Karasu's.

"_That's_ the good news?"

V'hesko shrugged lightly. "I had to give you _something_."

"_Damn it all_," Oboro fumed from his position on the floor. "Karasu was right - I _am_ always three steps behind."

"You remember him saying that?" V'hesko asked, leaning closer.

Oboro sighed loudly. "Would that I could remember anything _else_."

"I'm sure it will come to you in time," V'hesko assured him with a grin. "And when it does, I expect you to tell me all about it."

"I certainly hope so," Oboro agreed, earning a chuckle from the Warrior of Light. "I must immediately plan how to retrieve the scroll from Karasu... again."

"Perhaps first we should get some food and water into you," V'hesko suggested, getting to his feet and holding out his hand.

"Yes, I suppose that would be wise," Oboro agreed, groaning as he allowed V'hesko to help him up. "If I ever drink rice wine again it will too soon."

V'hesko just smiled. "_That_ I can believe."


	3. Window (WoL and Ardbert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: INCLUDES SHADOWBRINGERS SPOILERS]  
The Warrior of Light retires to his room in the Pendants where he receives a visit from an old friend who just won't seem to leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light featured in the story is my canon WoL, Rivayn Vesaldi.

As Rivayn peered out over the lavender landscape below, he could feel the presence of another behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Ardbert leaning against the table in the middle of the room.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Rivayn told him playfully, turning and moving toward him.

Ardbert laughed. "See if you're still saying that after a century alone."

Rivayn's smile immediately faded.

"It was a jest," Ardbert assured him. "Though perhaps you're right. Maybe I _should_ visit less."

"No, I'm glad you're here," Rivayn replied, taking a seat at the table next to him. He reached out into the freshly-filled basket in the center of the table and picked up a bread roll, holding it out to his companion. Ardbert simply raised an eyebrow. "Right, sorry. Forgot."

"I miss it, sometimes," Ardbert mused. "Eating. Drinking. Other things. You take the small things for granted til they're gone."

Rivayn's gaze dropped to the table as Ardbert moved to sit on the opposite side. He wasn't sure what to say — he hadn't been since the first time Eorzea's own Warrior of Darkness had appeared before him, a specter from an age long past. He couldn't begrudge Ardbert's incessant need to appear every time Rivayn was alone. He'd been haunting Novrandt for decades — nearly a century — though without the ability to interact with the world around him he wasn't much of a ghost.

Now it was his turn to haunt Rivayn, and though sometimes he wished for _actual privacy_, he couldn't help but appreciate the company. After all, some things only Ardbert could understand. But then...

"There's something I need to tell you," Rivayn blurted out, his gaze rising to meet his companion's. "It's about your friends."

Now it was Ardbert's gaze that dropped. "You mean the cardinal virtues."

"You know about them?"

"I've walked this world alone for a hundred years," Ardbert reminded him. "I wondered for so long why I alone was cursed to wander this realm between life and death. When your friend, Thancred, first arrived here in the First... that was when they came back."

Rivayn swallowed the lump in his throat. "...I killed them, Ardbert."

"You killed the virtues," Ardbert corrected. "If anything, you did my friends a favor. A kindness." He sighed lightly, his gaze moving toward the open window. "I hope they didn't know what they were doing..."

"I don't think they did."

"We risked everything, _sacrificed _everything, to save this world," Ardbert said softly as he continued to look at the sky, now once again awash with light. "When you defeated us on the Source, I thought _everything_ was lost, that we wasted our one chance. We didn't know we had anything left to give, but when we got back..."

"I saw," Rivayn told him somberly.

"They gave their lives to stop the Flood," Ardbert continued. "I never understood why Minfilia refused me. I was ready, but she said there was more for me. After a while I thought she was just punishing me..." Ardbert looked up, directly into Rivayn's eyes. "I think I understand now, though. I'm here for you."

Rivayn shifted uncomfortably on his stool. "You're gonna make me blush."

"I didn't mean it like that," Ardbert laughed. "Maybe in another life."

"I wish we'd met under different circumstances..."

Ardbert chuckled. "Aye, you'd have fit right in with us.”

"You'd have fit with us, too," Rivayn agreed with a smile.

"Hang on to them, Rivayn. Make a different future than we did."

"Ardbert, I—"

"Sorry, sorry," he interrupted with a slight smile. "I know you're not the emotional type. I didn't mean to bring you down."

"I can be sappy," Rivayn protested with a frown.

"Maybe so, but I wager you've got quite enough to worry about on your own without thinking about us."

Rivayn raised an eyebrow. "You might be on to something, actually."

"What?" Ardbert asked, looking confused.

"Tell me about them," Rivayn suggested. "A _good_ memory."

"Something good..." Ardbert murmured as he stroked a finger along his chin in thought. "Well, there was the time Renda-Rae managed to catch Nyelbert in a hunting snare..."

"She _what?_" Rivayn laughed.

"It wasn't _meant_ for him, of course, but—" Ardbert stopped short. "Well, I expect you've seen enough in your travels to guess how he reacted."

Rivayn grinned in response. "I can imagine."

"So anyway, she was hunting some beast or other just south of Laxan Loft..."

The two of them sat together for hours, recounting stories back and forth of their exploits — and their missteps — long into the evening. And for a time, brief as it was, Rivayn was able to forget that he was living on borrowed time.


	4. Nothing (Yotsuyu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: INCLUDES STORMBLOOD SPOILERS, BLOOD MENTION]  
Yotsuyu, acting Viceroy of Doma, finds herself frustrated with her lack of progress in exacting revenge upon her countrymen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place prior to the Main Scenario Quest "To Bend with the Wind."

"M-my lady, it was not my intention to—"

"Tell me, Tribunus," Yotsuyu purred from her place at the head of the room, her tone calm and even but her eyes unable to hide her burning fury. "Have you _any_ desire at all to see the morrow?"

The man hesitated a moment, unsure how to answer the question. "Of-of course, Viceroy."

"Then when next you present yourself to me, bring me news of that Doman _wretch_." She waved the Garlean officer away with her pipe, watching in amusement as he scurried away in fear.

Yotsuyu felt a sigh of annoyance escape her as she turned toward the chair in her office. It was no throne, but it was enough to keep her subordinates in line, useless as they were. Even the brute Grynewaht, the refuse foisted upon her by Zenos himself, had proven more useful than the Garlean whelps under her command.

She had made no significant strides in locating the missing prince Hien, son of the defeated Lord Kaien. When Zenos had gifted her the title of acting Viceroy, Yotsuyu had accepted it gladly. Such a station—such _power_—would position her perfectly to rain sweet vengeance upon her people, the people of Doma. The people who had failed her. Who had _abandoned her_ to a fate worse than death. And now she had the power to repay them in kind. Finding—and _eliminating_—their precious Lord Hien would be but the first step.

A flick of her eyes led her gaze to an ornate mirror hanging above a lavishly decorated chest of drawers. Yotsuyu drew on her pipe, blowing the smoke out into the mirror as she approached. It swirled and danced as it spread along the surface of the glass.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall." she purred, staring at her own reflection, "who is the _emptiest_ of them all?"

Yotsuyu peered into her own icy grey eyes. Had they always been that color? Or had they, too, been drained of life? With a snarl she struck out at the mirror, satisfied to see it burst into pieces and clatter to the floor below.

With a wince, Yotsuyu glanced down at her hand. A small spot of crimson streaked down onto her palm—a parting gift from the mirror, she thought with a light laugh.

"Grynewaht!" Yotsuyu bellowed, prompting the hulking Roegadyn to all but skid into her room.

"Aye, m'lady?" he asked boorishly, not even noticing the wound on her hand. All the better, she realized, though her features twisted into a snarl nonetheless. The fact that it was convenient that the oaf lacked manners and perception both hardly made it more palatable.

Yotsuyu huffed in annoyance. "Which settlement has gone longest without an official visit from their esteemed Viceroy?"

Grynewaht stared at her for a moment, clearly struggling to find an answer. "I, uh, think maybe the one with... you know, the fish?"

"You truly are _dull_, aren't you?" she asked with another annoyed sigh.

"Uh, uhhh..." he stammered, searching his brain for the answer. Finally, his eyes lit up. "Ice hairy!"

"_Isari_," Yotsuyu corrected, rolling her eyes so dramatically she all but had to turn from him. The man was lucky he had his uses, else he would certainly be floating out _from_ Isari with the tide.

"Aye, that's the one."

"Very well, prepare a convoy," Yotsuyu ordered. "We make for Isari first thing on the morrow."

Grynewaht nodded, and for a blessing said nothing before leaving the room. Yotsuyu found her gaze drifting back to the scattered shards of the mirror. Perhaps she and the mirror were more alike now than when it was whole—shards, strewn about by another's hand, never to be reunited; never to be whole.

"I may be nothing," Yotsuyu murmured, her eyes still fixed on the fragments of glass, "but when I am through with you, _Doma_, you shall beg for oblivion."


	5. Pickle (Hildibrand and Nashu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hildibrand and Nashu are on the case of the mysteriously missing pickles!

"This calls for Nashu's Delights!"

The petite Miqo'te stood before the group, one massive explosive in each hand. The merchant seemed horrified, though Nashu's companion was altogether unconcerned.

"I daresay this conundrum calls for a more delicate touch," Hildibrand replied, much to Nashu's disappointment. The bombs disappeared from whence they came... wherever that was.

"These pickles are worth their weight in gil," the merchant explained, his eyes still wide as he reeled from the idea of a _massive explosion_. "Please... _please_ don't blow them up."

"Fear not, my good sir," Hildibrand announced stoically, flexing in an outlandish manner. "I, Hildibrand, agent of enquiry, inspector extraordinaire, shall unravel this puzzle of purloined pickles!"

The merchant looked perplexed. "You'll... what...?"

"Don't worry, good sir," Nashu replied with a prodigious grin, "Hildibrand is on the case!"

"The pickles were right here in the warehouse this morning," the merchant explained after a moment of baffled head scratching. "I checked the barrels themselves before midday, so they must've been filched sometime this afternoon. You'll be able to find them from their smell."

Hildibrand seemed intrigued. "Your pickles have a piquant perfume?"

The merchant stared at him. "I'm not sure what that means, but the damn things smell something awful."

"Capital!" Hildibrand declared. "With this information, we shall have the case solved by nightfall or my name is not Hildibrand Heliodor Maximillian Manderville."

"Have you really got all those names, inspector?" Nashu asked earnestly.

"Of course, my dearest assistant," Hildibrand confirmed with a smile, "just as any true gentleman would."

The two left the merchant in a confused haze as they took their investigation to the streets of Limsa Lominsa. They searched high and low, both literally and figuratively. While Nashu crawled under a table in the Drowning Wench, Hildibrand questioned its proprietor, Baderon Tenfingers.

"My thanks to you and your ten fingers," Hildibrand said as the conversation concluded. He couldn't see Baderon's rolling eyes as he returned to regroup with this partner.

"Any good news to share, inspector?" Nashu asked with her usual intense enthusiasm.

"Indeed, I have!" Hildibrand nodded. "It seems that pirates may be to blame for these calamitous events!"

"Pirates!" It was more of a statement than a question. "Where would we find pirates in a city like Limsa Lominsa?"

"Tis a fair question indeed," Hildibrand returned with a nod, "but fear not, dear Nashu, for I have already gleaned the information we seek!" He paused, for dramatic effect, then pointed in a random direction. "To the docks!"

A nearby patron gently and quietly pushed his arm so it was _actually_ pointing at the docks.

"To the docks!" Nashu parroted eagerly before running off ahead of the inspector. With a shout of protest, Hildibrand dashed off after her. When they arrived, they were greeted by... no one. A massive ship floated next to the pier, an all too familiar brand emblazoned on the hull. Nashu stared at it in awe. "_Pirates._"

"We must locate the poached pickles and return them to our patron," Hildibrand declared, pointing to the ship. "Quickly, we must sniff out our quarry!"

The two boarded the empty ship and began rummaging through the cargo nose-first, sniffing each box and barrel before moving on to the next.

"This is taking much too long, inspector," Nashu complained.

Hildibrand shook his head. "It is important to be thorough, Nashu!"

"I have an idea!" she declared with a toothy grin. Once again, two bombs. Where did they come from? Who knows! But the fuses were now lit.

Hildibrand's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as Nashu tossed the two explosives toward the cargo hold. With a thundering blast, both the cargo _and _Hildibrand were thrown in all directions. As the dust settled, a pair of legs could be seen jutting out from a wooden barrel.

"Inspector...?" Nashu asked, poking one of the legs. There was a muffled sound from inside as the barrel tipped over. Out spilled Hildibrand and the barrel's contents.

"_Not my pickles!_" the merchant shouted from the entrance to the cargo hold.

"Ah, but they _are_ your pickles!" Hildibrand corrected, pointing to his nose. "The veracity of my claim has been confirmed by my own two nostrils!"

"They're positively _rancid!_" Nashu squealed in delight.

"Indeed, they are," Hildibrand agreed before picking up one of the pickles and taking a bite. His face scrunched up as he chewed, finally swallowing with what appeared to be a great deal of struggle. "What a unique texture for a pickle."

"It's pretty average," the merchant told him with a shrug as he took another bite, "for a sea slug."

Hildibrand's face froze mid-bite, slowly contorting into the most gruesome of shapes. "Did you say... a _sea slug?_"

"Aye," the merchant said with a nod. "Sea pickles are a delicacy here in Limsa, and these particular ones we import from Othard."

Hildibrand's eye twitched.

"We brine them with gysahl greens," the merchant continued. "Gives them their flavor... and their stench."

"Why would pirates want to steal them?" Nashu asked, ignoring Hildibrand as his face continued to twist into a pucker. "They look — and smell — disgusting!"

"They’re a pirate's favorite snack," the merchant explained as Hildibrand faceplanted into the stack of pickles. "I'd best get these back before the lot returns."

"Well, the inspector and I—" Nashu stopped as she noticed Hildibrand's cross-eyed expression. She moved to grab him by the leg before returning her attention to the merchant. "We're pleased to have solved the case for you!"

"You have my deepest thanks, inspectors," the merchant replied with a sigh of relief as Nashu began to drag Hildibrand's motionless body toward the ship's entrance. "Is... is he alright?'

"Oh, he's fine," she assured him. "He'll be right as rain in no time!"

The merchant continued to stare. "What do I owe you?"

"Oh no, we need no reward," Nashu assured him, wincing as Hildibrand's head bounced off of the edge of the doorjamb. "The thrill of a job well done is reward enough!"

"And he's really alright...?"

"Happens all the time," Nashu assured him with a wave of her hand. "Take care!"

"Those inspectors sure are strange..." the merchant muttered to himself as the two disappeared from the cargo hold. He turned his attention back to the pile of half-crushed gysahl pickles on the floor and sighed in defeat. "Maybe I was better off before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is absolutely a reference to Final Fantasy IX, and yes, that was an intentional reference to Avatar: The Last Airbender.


	6. Address (Cid and Nero)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Nero Scaeva now an official member of the Garlond Ironworks, Cid's patience is pushed to its limits.

"You're doing it wrong."

There was a loud sigh from beneath the pile of magitek scraps. "Look, Nero," Cid said as he emerged, looking more than annoyed. "Just because Jessie decided you work for the Ironworks doesn't mean I need — or _want_ — your help."

"Fine, fine," Nero returned, crossing his arms over his chest and looking disinterested. "I'll just take my superior knowledge of Garlean magitek and leave."

"Finally," Cid muttered, turning back to the hunk of metal.

"You were really going to let me go?" Nero protested after a moment, prompting another sigh from the Ironworks' head engineer. "Do you plan to just muddle along cluelessly beneath that wreck all afternoon?"

"_Fine_," Cid acquiesced with a roll of his eyes. "You can help."

"Excellent," Nero chirped, moving to Cid's side faster than he thought possible. Nero pointed to a bit of tubing toward the bottle of the contraption. "The ceruleum flow is inverted."

Cid allowed his gaze to follow Nero's. "Blast, you're right."

Nero frowned. "Of _course_ I'm right."

"I can't believe you designed something so backwards," Cid mused as he got back to work.

“I certainly didn't design this lump of garbage," Nero declared with a wrinkle of his nose. “If I had, it wouldn’t _be_ backwards.”

Cid couldn't help but smile. "And here I thought you were Garlemald's preeminent engineer."

"No, Garlond, that was _you_," Nero reminded him with a sudden sneer and a healthy dose of spite. "If you'll recall, I never _could _surpass your all-encompassing genius."

"Are you _still_ upset about that bloody contest?" Cid asked in incredulity. “We both got first place, if you’ll recall.”

"I should have won!"

“You _did_ win, you daft fool!”

Nero would not be appeased. “I should have won _alone_.”

"For gods' sakes, Nero, it's been over twenty years," Cid reminded him with an exasperated sigh. "Let it go."

"Oh Garlond, have you taken to worshipping the Twelve?" Nero asked with disgusted sound. "I knew you had fallen, but alas I did not know how far..."

Cid rolled his eyes. "You're even more bitter than the Emperor's coffee."

"Which Emperor?" the ex-tribunus asked with a wry grin.

"The amnesia was temporary," Cid reminded him. "I remember how Varis took his coffee."

"One could scarcely call _that_ coffee," Nero replied. "Perhaps a steaming cup of goat’s milk with just a drop of Garlean light roast for color."

Cid couldn't hold back the laugh. "Now you're slandering your Emperor?"

"Is it slander to make impartial commentary on his Excellency's beverage of choice?"

"If you want to call _that_ impartial," Cid began with a smirk, reaching for his wrench, "then I suggest you work on your tone."

Nero shrugged dismissively at the advice. "Garlond, old friend, I think it about time we address the behemoth in the room."

"The only thing I want addressed," Cid told him as he moved the wrench into position, "is a resignation letter, from you to me."

"Be serious," Nero chided, prompting a snort of amusement from the other man. "Admit it."

"Admit what," Cid asked. "That I can't stand you?"

"That you're jealous."

Cid's reaction was so visceral that he managed to completely strip the bolt he was trying to tighten. "That I'm _what?"_

"It's nothing to be embarrassed by," Nero continued, dripping with conceit. "It's only natural that you should feel threatened by my presence here."

"Now _look here_—" Cid had bolted out from beneath the magitek and strode right up to Nero to stare him down eye to eye. Or at least he _would_ have if Nero wasn't an entire fulm taller. _Boy, this was easier when we were children_, Cid thought to himself. But this was no time to back down.

"There's the fiery engineer I remember," Nero teased with an amused smile.

"I hate you, Nero tol Scaeva."

"Please, Garlond, just Nero Scaeva," the Garlean corrected. "I gave up the right to that title when I decided to flee to this _festering pit_ that is Eorzea."

Cid glared at him. "Well if you're going to _fester_ here, do you think you could you do it somewhere else?"

"Such as?"

"_Anywhere but here_."

The two men stared at each other, mere ilms apart, for what felt like bells. Cid sighed in relief as a new voice broke the tension.

"What are the two of you doing?"

Cid turned toward Jessie, doing his best to keep the relief from his face. "Having an argument."

"I can see that," she replied with a scowl. "What did I tell you?"

"To play nice," Cid answered defeatedly.

"And I have been nothing but," Nero smugly added, turning to smile at Cid.

Cid glared back. "You wouldn't know how to play nice if I gave you an instruction manual."

"Which, notably, you have not," Nero reminded him. "For anything."

"Nero Scaeva, you pompous, _scheming_, son of a—"

"_CID GARLOND."_

Both men turned toward Jessie, who glared at them with a look of pure unadulterated rage.

"Are you both _children?"_ she asked, her hands on her hips and her jaw set. "For shite’s sake, I am the president of this company, _not your mother_."

Well _now_ he felt guilty. "Sorry, Jessie," Cid apologized. "I'll... I'll try harder."

Nero looked extremely satisfied. "As you should."

"Don't think _you're_ off the hook, Scaeva," Jessie snapped, pointing her finger at him angrily. "I hired you, and I can fire you just as easily."

It took all of Cid's composure not to laugh at the scandalized expression on Nero's face. He was only disappointed that the man said nothing in response. He would have paid good gil to watch Jessie cut him down to size, but this would have to be good enough.

"If I have to come back in here, neither of you will like it," she threatened. "Am I clear?"

Both men nodded vigorously.

"Good." Jessie turned to Cid, briefly glancing down at the mess he had been working on. "What is that thing anyway?"

"It's a magitek weapon," Cid explained, prompting a laugh from Nero. "What's so funny, Scaeva?"

Nero tried to compose himself, and only half succeeded. "That's not a weapon."

With a frown, Cid glanced down at the machine, then back at Nero. "Well what is it, then?"

"It's the very latest in Garlean ingenuity," Nero began with a grin, gesturing at the lump of scrap. "It's the Mark XIV Thermocoil Boilmaster!"

Cid blinked once. "You mean to tell me..."

"Yes, Garlond," Nero confirmed with a smirk. "It's a tea kettle."


	7. Jump (Haurchefant and Francel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Haurchefant and Francel recklessly visit Providence Point on their own with near deadly consequences.

"Father says if you are true and pure of heart, you shall live on forever to walk in Halone's halls."

Haurchefant looked down into the depths of Witchdrop. He could scarcely see the ground below — not that anything would be there. It was considered poor manners to leave the bodies at the bottom. That much he had learned from _his_ father.

"Francie, you've got to _die_ first," he explained to his friend, a stony expression on his face. "I, for one, would rather not prove my honor by breaking upon the bottom of the gorge."

"If _my_ family's honor was at stake, I would jump," Francel continued. "I would prove that we are honorable men all."

"You are barely twelve summers old, Francie," Haurchefant reminded the boy with a smirk. "Besides, none would be so bold as to accuse House Haillenarte of heresy."

Haurchefant grabbed hold of his friend's sleeve to pull him away from the precipice of the gorge. It was a mild winter in Coerthas, and the highlands had scarcely seen a flake of snow, though there had been no shortage of rain. As it was the first day in a week that the sky was finally clear, the youngest of House Fortemps had suggested the two enjoy the unseasonably warm weather outdoors. Haurchefant had suggested a trip to Camp Dragonhead, to which Francel eagerly agreed, but no sooner had they arrived than the young Haillenarte had insisted on an excursion north, toward the Steel Vigil.

"Francel, this is a terrible idea," Haurchefant warned as they continued north from Witchdrop.

The other boy glanced back over his shoulder without slowing his pace. "I thought you wished to be a knight."

"I do," Haurchefant confirmed, "but tis folly for a knight to stride unto the dragon's maw for naught but glory alone."

Francel stifled a laugh. "You have been reading far too many epics, my friend."

"T'was advice from my _father_," Haurchefant returned, a light blush rising in his cheeks. "And it is _good _advice, besides."

"Perhaps," Francel agreed, "but I have heard naught but stories of the Steel Vigil since I was but a child."

"You are _still_ a child."

"Haurchefant, must you always—"

Both boys were interrupted by a piercing howl ahead of them. Haurchefant's eyes went wide as he looked past Francel to see the unmistakable silhouette of a massive dragon, larger than any he had seen before. Francel had clearly noticed it too. The quaver in his breath was clear as he took a step backward directly into his friend.

"When I tell you, run east toward the Ogre's Belly," Haurchefant whispered.

"Are you mad?" Francel barked as quietly as one could possibly bark. "You wish to trade death by a dragon’s fangs for death at the hands of ogres?"

"If we stay here, or stay out in the open, we will _certainly _not see the sun of tomorrow," Haurchefant returned. "Go, Francel!"

With barely a moment's hesitation, the boy tore off toward the caverns to the east. The dragon's gaze turned to follow the new movement, but Haurchefant was prepared. "Over here, brute!" he bellowed, picking up a stone and hurling it at the great wyrm.

The dragon snarled angrily and began to advance. It wouldn't do to lead the beast back toward Dragonhead nor toward Francel, and it blocked the path north. Haurchefant knew his only recourse was either toward Natalan, or down into Witchdrop. Natalan was certainly not an option — the Ixal weren't like to appreciate the presence of _any_ from Ishgard — so Witchdrop it was.

Jumping was out of the question, of course, so Haurchefant scurried as fast as his legs would take him toward the rough slope of stone leading down into the gorge. The dragon roared as it bounded after him, and Haurchefant could hear the sound of the wyrm's massive claws scrape along the stone at the gorge's edge.

The rocky path leading down into Witchdrop was slicker than Haurchefant had expected, thanks to the many days of rain, and he felt his boots slide out from beneath him as he ran toward the salvation of the gorge. The dragon reached out its long neck to snap after him, but massive as it was it could not fit down the narrow pathway. As Haurchefant tumbled helplessly downward, the beast howled in frustration.

Haurchefant came to a stop as he slammed into the wall of the cliff. He groaned in pain as he got to his feet, thankful that the path turned to the right rather than the left. A fall from this height would be just as likely to kill him as if he were to have jumped from the top. Now that he was afforded some measure of safety, he carefully made his way down to the bottom.

Despite the unseasonably warm winter, the depths of Witchdrop seemed just as cold as ever. Haurchefant shivered as he surveyed his surroundings. If he remembered the stories of Witchdrop well, there would be tunnels connecting from the gorge all the way to the Ogre's Belly. And so he set off in search of his friend, praying that the stories of bloodthirsty ogres were just that.

"Haurchefant, is that you?" a relieved voice echoed down into the second gorge as Haurchefant emerged from the connecting tunnel. He looked up to see Francel standing at the edge of the precipice above the slope leading out of the chasm.

"Francie, thank Halone you are safe!" Haurchefant beamed, rushing up to the edge of the crag. He held a hand out to his friend. "Come, we must get you down and return to Dragonhead immediately."

Haurchefant helped Francel climb down the edge of the bluff and the two embraced for the briefest of moments before heading up the slope and back toward the camp. The dragon was sure not to be far, but if they were careful and quiet, they might avoid its detection long enough to return to safety.

"Did you see the size of that beast?" Francel asked quietly as they approached the safety of Dragonhead's walls. "I think it none other than Svara herself."

"You think it the great wyrm that wrested the Vigil from House Haillenarte?" Haurchefant asked in surprise. The dragon was enormous, to be sure, but Svara...? "I can but wish you to be mistaken, Francie. Should Svara have ventured so close to Dragonhead..."

"We must inform your father at once," Francel proclaimed. "And tell him of your heroic actions!"

"And how would you explain our reason for being so far from the camp?" Haurchefant asked with a frown. "If our fathers learned of our reckless behavior—"

"I shall take full responsibility," Francel offered with a smile.

"No," Haurchefant returned with a shake of his head. "We will come up with some other excuse."

"This could be your chance!" Francel urged him, grasping his sleeve. "This could be what gains you knighthood after long last!"

Haurchefant laughed as they passed through the gates into camp. "I daresay they do not take twelve year old boys as knights."

"You know what I meant."

"Fear not, my friend," Haurchefant replied with a warm smile. "If it is to be, I will have many and more chances to prove my worth."

"Would that you did not need to," Francel frowned. "But thank you, my dearest friend, for saving my life this day."

Haurchefant nodded in response before looking toward the outpost. "I will inform my father that we spied the wyrm through the mist from the ramparts above," he offered. "Surely some soul here heard the dragon's bellow."

"Are you certain?" Francel asked. "I still believe that-"

"This is for the best," Haurchefant insisted with a smile. "Go, my friend. I shall find you once I am finished."

Francel nodded somberly before heading for the safety and warmth of the barracks. Haurchefant turned back toward the intercessory, where he knew his father would be. With a deep breath, he began to walk. None would know of his deeds, but Francel would remain safe from reproach. That was all that mattered.


	8. Season (Aymeric and Handeloup)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: MENTIONS OF DEATH]  
Isghard suffers in the wake of the Calamity as all of Coerthas suddenly freezes over, and Aymeric finds himself in the impossibly difficult position of ensuring the continued welfare of his people.

"...and thus it is my belief that, were we to secure a sufficiently ample supply of fire-aspected crystals..."

Aymeric found his eyes beginning to glaze as the aetherologist delivered his report. It had been but a few suns since the lesser moon had fallen, and Ishgard had all but frozen over. The aetherologists from the Observatorium posited that the natural aether of Coerthas had shifted dramatically toward that of ice, though they had yet to understand why.

"Lord Aymeric...?"

The Lord of the Temple Knights snapped back to attention. "Yes, professor, my apologies." Aymeric took a long draft from his cup of now-lukewarm tea. "It has been quite a long day. Quite a long _few_ days, in fact..."

"I understand completely," the older man returned with a warm smile. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, _crystals_."

Aymeric breathed a sigh of relief as the doors burst open before the aetherologist could continue. "My lord! I apologize for the interruption, but I have urgent news."

"Of course, Ser Handeloup." Aymeric turned back to the aetherologist. "My apologies, professor, but might we continue this another time?"

The man nodded and began to gather his things. "Of course, my lord. The needs of the Temple Knights shall always come as priority."

"My thanks, good ser," Aymeric replied with a smile. "I will have one of the knights escort you to your accommodations, that we might continue this in the morning."

"Very good, my lord." The elder elezen bowed before excusing himself from the room.

"You could not have come at a better time, my friend," Aymeric declared as the doors shut. "I fear had he spoken much longer I might have drifted off."

"I would like to claim my arrival was purely for benefit," Handeloup replied, "but I regret that I _do_ bring a truly urgent matter."

"Of course." Aymeric eyed his tea, sighing lightly before taking a dissatisfying sip.

"We have had word that water supplies around the city have frozen completely," Handeloup explained moving to take a seat at the table opposite him. "We have set the knights about trying to melt them, and have conscripted soldiers from the high houses to assist, but I fear it will not be enough."

Aymeric sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "We have not the infrastructure for this type of weather," he muttered in frustration. "We must think of a solution quickly before more of our people perish to the cold."

"The Brume is like to suffer the worst," Handeloup advised. "The poor already suffered during the normal Coerthan winters. Our knights have already found men and women frozen solid in the streets. Perhaps—"

"I know what you wish to say, Handeloup, and I agree with you," Aymeric began firmly, "but he will _never_ permit it."

"But surely—"

"Even if my father _would_ allow us to seek aid from our neighbors, there is little chance they would agree," Aymeric continued. "The Calamity destroyed much throughout the realm. I expect the rest of Eorzea has their hands full with their own troubles. No, we must solve this problem on our own..."

Handeloup was silent for a moment, and Aymeric could see the disappointment plain on his face. He, too, felt its sting, but he knew he was right. The Archbishop would never agree, and the Alliance would almost certainly be unwilling or unable to spare any resources.

"What do you suggest?" Handeloup finally asked.

"We must bring the heads of each High House together," Aymeric announced after a moment of consideration. "Alone, we will certainly fall. We must all work together and rely on each other's strengths. House Dzemael, for example, may have some notion on how to bolster our infrastructure and prevent our supplies of water from freezing over."

"That will take time," Handeloup reminded him grimly. "What will we do in the interim?"

Aymeric sighed. The Calamity had already claimed many, and it would claim more as time marched on. Aymeric had walked the streets himself and seen what the Temple Knights had seen. Men, women... even children. It was almost too much to bear. "We will do the best we can with what we have."

"It won't be enough, Aymeric."

The Lord of the Temple Knights sighed deeply yet again. "I know."

Handeloup stood and bowed deeply. "I will schedule a meeting and inform the heads of the High Houses of their required attendance."

"Thank you, my friend," Aymeric returned with a weak smile. As Handeloup left the room, Aymeric looked down at his tea. It was now cold, and he could scarcely help but think it an analogy to their current situation.

When he had accepted the position of Lord of the Temple Knights just two years past, he never expected he would have to deal with anything like this. Crime, heresy, civil unrest? Certainly. But a _Calamity?_ What had happened to Eorzea beggared belief, but those who had survived now bore the burden of ensuring their people endured the aftermath, and it would be no trifling task.

He had never expected such a responsibility, but Aymeric accepted it gladly. It would be a challenge, to be sure, but Ishgard _would_ persevere.

Aymeric drained the contents of his cup and stood from his chair. He could not sit idly by while his men toiled in the cold to rebuild and protect Foundation's people. He grabbed his coat from the chair next to him and headed for the door to join them.


	9. Blanket (Tataru and Alphinaud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tataru finds Alphinaud sulking in Fortemps Manor, she takes it upon herself to cheer him up.

As soon as she entered Fortemps Manor, Tataru knew something was amiss. The main sitting room was empty, save for the presence of one particular young elezen sitting quietly by the fireplace. His shoulders slumped, and Tataru knew it could only be one person.

"Chin up, Alphinaud," she implored as she approached the sofa. A sigh was the only response she received.

The three of them had been grateful that Lord Fortemps had taken them in after their escape from Ul'dah. Alphinaud's guilt over his part in the Crystal Braves' betrayal weighed heavily on the boy, and seemed only to increase as the days went by.

"Well, good to see you languishing here by the fire rather than down at the Forgotten Knight like our friend," she added as she reached up to the back of the sofa to pull down the throw. Alphinaud looked up at her as she rounded the edge and came into full view.

"Languishing...?" he asked with a frown as she climbed up onto the cushions beside him.

"Here," she urged, holding up the blanket. "Let me just..."

Without much help from Alphinaud, Tataru managed to swing the blanket over his shoulders and tuck him into it. The boy looked as though he wanted to protest, but didn't move to stop her. He sighed as she plopped down next to him.

"You might feel better if you talk about it," Tataru suggested after a moment. Alphinaud glanced up slowly, then turned his head back toward the fireplace. "Oh, come on now Alphy."

"...I hate it when you call me that." _He speaks!_ Tataru thought to herself. It was progress, at least.

"Come on, _Alphinaud_," she continued, putting emphasis on his name in hopes of bringing him further outside of his self-imposed shell. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"It's all my fault," he finally told her with a quavering sigh. "Because I was selfish. Self-_centered_. An arrogant know-it-all, just like Alisaie always said."

"Now now, Alphinaud, you can't put stock in the barbs of a sibling," Tataru chided. "Besides, I'm sure if Alisaie were here she'd be right next to me on this very couch."

Alphinaud laughed derisively. "I hardly think-"

"Alphinaud Leveilleur," Tataru chided, putting her hands on her hips. "I won't have any more of this contrite self-loathing."

The boy looked up at her with wide eyes.

"Pull yourself together, Alphinaud," Tataru ordered with crossed arms. "You made a mistake. We've _all_ made mistakes. But you can't do anything about it if you spend all your time here on this sofa feeling sorry for yourself!"

"But-"

"No buts."

"...but-"

"Alphinaud!" Tataru got to her feet on the sofa and took his face in her hands. "Look at me, Alphinaud. What happened to the others is _not your fault_."

He continued to stare at her, for once seeming to be at a loss for words.

"You misjudged them, but _you_ didn't choose to betray us, _they _did," Tataru continued, still holding fast to his face. "You can't take responsibility for the choices of others."

"When did you get so wise?" Alphinaud asked with a light laugh.

Tataru released his face and climbed down off the couch. "I'm going to choose to pretend I didn't hear you suggest that I haven't _always_ been wise," she said as she headed for the now-guttering fire. She picked up another log and tossed it onto the rest, pleased to see the tiny flame reignite.

Alphinaud smiled weakly. "Thank you, Tataru."

"You're welcome, Alphinaud," she replied with a smile, moving to sit on the sofa opposite him. "And when you're feeling well enough, I expect you to pay the favor forward."

Alphinaud frowned. "What do you mean?"

Tataru crossed her arms. "I believe I _did_ mention another who is languishing at the bottom of a tankard of ale."

"You mean...?"

"Our friend could use a friend," Tataru confirmed. "You're not the only one feeling guilty."

"What about you?" Alphinaud asked.

"I _could_ march down to the Forgotten Knight and make a fuss," she admitted, "but I think it might mean more coming from you."

"You want _me_ to make a fuss?"

"Oh, Alphinaud," Tataru sighed with a roll of her eyes. "For such a smart boy, you can be so incredibly daft sometimes."

"I... I see," he responded abashedly. "I suppose I could... maybe..."

"When you're feeling better," Tataru suggested, hopping down from the sofa. "In the meantime, I'll go fetch us some hot chocolate. Haurchefant tells me you enjoy it."

Alphinaud smiled warmly. "Thank you again, Tataru."

"That's just what family does, Alphinaud," Tataru explained. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Family..." he repeated as Tataru disappeared into the next room. Alphinaud found himself smiling again. He still couldn't forgive himself for his part in what had happened, but for the first time since leaving Ul'dah, he believed that eventually he could.


	10. Delicious (Jacke and V'kebbe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacke has stolen V'kebbe's lunch again, and she has a mind to set him straight once and for all.

V'kebbe stared at Jacke, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. He had eaten her lunch _again_.

"How many times do ye plan to filch me food, Jacke?" she asked bluntly. "It's been six bleedin' times now."

Jacke swallowed the lump growing in his throat. He remembered what had happened the _first_ time he had stolen her food. And the second... and the third... Hells, he remembered _each _time as if it had just happened. And yet he _still_ found himself guilty as ever.

"Please, love, ye know I didn't mean to cross ye," Jacke assured her, holding his hands up. He prayed she didn't string him up from a bridge again.

"Ye always speak o’ the code, and yet here we are," V'kebbe responded with a sigh. "Fine, I s'pose there's only one thing left to do."

Another gulp. "An' what's that, love?"

V'kebbe grabbed his sleeve and started to drag him toward the door. "We're goin' to the Bismarck."

"We're— what?" That was definitely not the response he expected. "You're not gonna hang me from the balcony, are ye...?"

"Don't be daft, ye cross-cove," she told him. "If ye won't fetch up cloyin' me food, then we'll jus' have to get you yer own."

The rogue peered at her curiously as she dragged him down the pier. "I confess myself in a bit of a pucker, love."

"Clearly yer not about to change yer ways," V'kebbe replied, "so I s'pose I'll need to learn to live with it."

Jacke was silent as his fellow rogue led him to the preeminent restaurant in all of La Noscea. Typically, his kind were not welcome at the Bismarck, posh as it was. V'kebbe had made an arrangement with the guildmaster so that she could trade particular services for particular victuals. She did not, however, eat them _at_ the Bismarck. The restaurant itself was reserved for those with far more influence and importance than Limsa Lominsa's rogue’s guild.

"Sit," V'kebbe ordered as they arrived at the Bismarck. Jacke glanced about them to see a number of heads turned to stare, but he was vastly more afraid of his companion than any of the other patrons, so he did as he was ordered. He opened his mouth to speak, but V'kebbe held up a threatening finger before disappearing toward the kitchen.

"I'm still a bit muddled, Kebbe," Jacke admitted as she returned. "Why would ye choose to share a meal with him what nabbed yer sandwich?"

"I'm still right vexed with you, Jacke," she began, "but I reckon if we have a bite at the Bismarck on the regular, maybe ye'll get it out of yer system."

Jacke glanced around, noting all the still-staring faces. "How did ye manage to bag a table?"

"Guildmaster owes me a favor," V'kebbe answer with a hint of a smirk. "The kind ye can't repay easily."

Jacke cringed slightly. "I think I'd rather not know."

"Wasn't plannin' to tell ye," V'kebbe returned, the grin fading. It returned after a moment as their food arrived.

"Compliments of Lyngsath," the waiter announced, setting the plates down on the table and bowing. "Please enjoy."

Jacke raised an eyebrow. "_Now_ I'm curious."

"And if ye hadn't broken the code _six times_ I might've told ye."

"I said I'm sorry!" Jacke declared, throwing his hands up. With a loud sigh, he looked down at his plate. It was filled with all sorts of foods he couldn't possibly even begin identify. Meanwhile, a stack of finger sandwiches graced V'kebbe's plate. She seemed amused as she noticed the expression on his face.

"Well, go on," she urged, gesturing to his plate. "That's fancy fare, it is."

Jacke stared at the opulent cuisine. "What _is_ it?"

"Ye'll have to eat it and find out." V'kebbe's amusement grew as Jacke begrudgingly picked up a fork and stabbed one of the mystery items.

"Llymlaen save me," Jacke muttered under his breath before stuffing the forkful of food into his mouth. His face twisted as he began to chew.

"Good, innit?" V'kebbe asked as he slowly and painfully swallowed. "It's a Bismarck specialty."

"What _is_ it, raw eft?" Jacke complained, looking back down at the plate. "What other horrors did you order fer me?"

V'kebbe leaned over the table to peer at the plate's contents. Finally, she pointed at what looked like some variety of tentacle. "That one next."

"V'kebbe, please..."

"I expect ye to clean yer plate, Jacke," she returned seriously, earning a defeated sigh from her companion. Jacke picked the fork back up.

"Crossed Kebbe again, did ye?" a familiar voice asked from behind them as Jacke suffered through another mouthful. They both turned to see Underfoot approach.

Jacke made a gagging sound as he finally swallowed. "Never again, I swear it."

V'kebbe crossed her arms as Underfoot took a seat at the table with them. "I've heard _that_ before."

"I mean it this time," Jacke assured her, his eyes watching as V'kebbe handed Underfoot one of her finger sandwiches.

"Stop droolin', ye sad dog," V'kebbe finally said with a light laugh. Jacke's eyes lit up as she held one of the finger sandwiches out to him as well. "Ye passed me test, Jacke Swallow."

Jacke glanced back down at the mostly full plate again. "Ye were testin' me...?"

"Aye, and ye actually ate some o' that tack," she returned with another laugh. "Can't believe you really ate the raw eft."

"Gods, it _was_ raw?" Jacke barked with a disgusted look on his face. "I... I guess I deserved that."

"I'll just remember to get you yer own sandwiches from now on," V'kebbe offered. "So if ye bilk me again yer gonna meet me stabbers instead o’ just getting’ strung up."

"I'll keep the line this time, love," Jacke promised, making a crossing motion across his chest. Underfoot looked unconvinced, but was too busy finishing his sandwich to speak up. "You're a rum mort, Kebbe."

"And don't ye forget it," she cautioned, handing Underfoot another sandwich before pushing the plate toward Jacke. "Now have yer fill so we can slide back to the Sisters and get back to work.”


	11. Farmhouse (Kai-Shirr)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Kai-Shirr is content to tend Wright's farms, his friend has other ideas for their future.

The sun beat down unforgivingly upon the grassy plains of Kholusia, just as it did every day. Kai-Shirr wiped the sweat from his brow, taking a momentary respite from his work as he glanced up at the light-ridden sky above.

"You're going to work yourself to death," a voice called from behind him. Kai-Shirr turned to see another young mystel approaching with a jug. "Thought you could use some water."

"Bless you, Arla-Rae," he said in thanks, dropping his shovel and grabbing the jug from her hands. He greedily began to drain the contents, which just earned him an amused laugh.

"Don't drink it all!" Arla-Rae chided, reaching up to take the water back. Kai-Shirr laughed as his friend set the jug down on a nearby crate before returning to join him. After a moment, she looked past him into the distance. "You ever wonder what it's like?"

Kai-Shirr turned to follow her gaze. Eulmore, a city filled with dreams, where he would never have to worry about going hungry or being attacked by sin eaters. It was a city entirely beyond his grasp.

"Sometimes," Kai-Shirr returned with a shrug, reaching for the shovel. "Eulmore's not for people like us, though."

"I heard they're letting people in," Arla-Rae returned with a mischievous grin. "As servants to the free citizens."

Kai-Shirr snorted, thrusting the shovel into the dirt. "You want to be some rich nob's slave?"

"Better to serve the rich than to wonder if the harvest'll feed us all this winter," Arla-Rae returned with crossed arms. "I'm tired of always wondering, of always being afraid that this winter will be my last."

He glanced at her, then sighed. She had a point, he realized. Every year things seemed to get worse and worse, and it was only a matter of time before supplies dwindled too low for the village. Though he feigned ignorance, Kai-Shirr knew of Eulmore's bonded citizens. A number of Wright's youth had already left for the promised affluence of the city, only to be barred entry at the gates.

"What makes you think _we_ could get in?" he asked after a moment, leaning on the shovel and turning toward her. "Don't you have to have a skill or something?"

"I was thinking of dancing," Arla-Rae responded, doing a quick pirouette with a giggle. "I'm sure some of the snobs in that city would enjoy the pleasure of a personal dancer."

"I don't know about this, Arla-Rae," he replied with a frown. "Besides, it's not like _I've_ got any talents other than shoveling dirt."

"I'm sure we can come up with something for you," she told him with a smile, grabbing hold of his sleeve. "Come on!"

"Wait!" Kai-Shirr protested as she pulled him along behind her. "The field...!"

"It'll keep," Arla-Rae assured him. The two walked along the path leading from Wright to the water's edge. She seemed excited, though Kai-Shirr still found himself skeptical.

Arla-Rae _could_ dance, he had to admit, and their other friends each had talents of their own. But Kai-Shirr hadn't had the time to learn to do much of anything but help with the farm. Both of his parents had died when he was young, and he always feared that if he didn't make himself useful, he would be cast out. And so Kai-Shirr had spent every waking moment learning to be useful, and saved none for himself.

Arla-Rae pointed to the lighthouse at the coast and jogged toward the entrance. "What are you doing?" Kai-Shirr called after her as she opened the door.

"Just come on!" she urged, entering the lighthouse and beginning to climb the stairs. Kai-Shirr begrudgingly followed her.

As the two emerged at the top of the lighthouse, Kai-Shirr understood why she had brought him there. He followed her up the ladder to the very top and breathed deeply as he stared out over the azure waters below.

"Look at how beautiful it is," Arla-Rae said with an outstretched arm, pointing toward Eulmore. Even despite the Flood, Kai-Shirr could see the lights from the upper levels of the city dance against the brilliance of the sky.

He found himself smiling as he leaned against the railing. "It sure it something..."

"Kai-Shirr, do you want to spend your whole life tending someone else's farm?" Arla-Rae asked, looking him square in the eyes.

He shifted uncomfortable. "No, but—"

"No buts!" she declared, pointing a finger at him. She shifted the finger toward Eulmore. "_That's _where our future is!"

Kai-Shirr looked back at the city. "How do you propose we get _me_ in?" he finally asked, turning his gaze toward his friend. "I have absolutely _no_ talents whatsoever."

"Don't worry," Arla-Rae replied with a wide excited smile. "We'll think of something. I promise."


	12. Test (Krile and Aulus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krile is captured on the journey back to the Rising Stones, and when she awakens she finds herself in a strange place with an even stranger man.

Krile's eyes fluttered open, and as her vision focused, she realized she was not in the Rising Stones as she expected. No, this was somewhere altogether different, and not where she should be. It was not where she should be _at all_.

Her attention quickly fell upon the tall figure of a Garlean man standing nearby. His purple hair was partially obscured by an unusual contraption he wore on his head. The man turned toward her as he heard the rustle of her shackles.

"Ah, you have awakened," he declared, putting down his tools and moving toward her. He reached for her face, to which she strenuously objected by pulling away as far as she could. Considering both her hand and feet were bound, her efforts were mostly for naught. "Now now, I only wish to ensure you are unharmed."

"If you wished me unharmed, perhaps you should not have sent armed brutes to capture me," Krile returned with a sneer.

"I absolutely concur with your assessment," the Garlean claimed, adjusting his spectacles slightly. "But forgive my manners. I am Aulus mal Asina, chief magitek technician to my Lord Zenos yae Galvus."

"You speak of manners while I sit here, bound and imprisoned?" Krile scoffed. "You are as barbaric as your people seem to believe _we_ are."

Aulus's face twisted into a frown; the man seemed genuinely hurt. "The methods of your... _invitation_ were not of my choosing," he explained after a moment, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "Though I suppose you would _not_ have come of your own volition, would you?"

"I would have chosen to die rather than help you with whatever this is you have planned," Krile spat back before slowly looking about the room. She dared not ask the question... but Aulus could clearly see it in her eyes.

"You wish to know why you are here," he posited with a pompous smile. "'Tis only natural to be curious, considering the circumstances."

Aulus turned and walked back toward his table. Over his shoulder, Krile could see that it was littered with all variety of tools, some of which she recognized and others whose purpose she could scarcely even begin to guess. Ran a finger alone one of the latter, and Krile could feel a bead of sweat begin to form on her brow.

"You see, we Garleans cannot wield magicks like you sav —" He caught himself before finishing the word. "Like you, from the southern nations. You see, we created magitek to solve this problem, and it was a glory of engineering. Truly astounding!"

The animation in Aulus' voice was equal parts contagious and terrifying. Krile had known men like this many times. They were charismatic men who were enthralled with science to a fault. These men abandoned their humanity in the pursuit of knowledge and advancement, and she could see that selfsame menacing fire burn in Aulus' eyes.

"But magitek was naught but a bandage to staunch the bleeding of Garlemald's greatest wound," the Garlean continued, ignoring the increasingly disgusted look on Krile's face. "No, to truly transcend our limitations we must _remove_ them!"

"What are you blathering on about?" Krile asked with a glare. "You want to transcend—?"

_Oh_. Oh, she suddenly understood what it was it was he wanted.

Aulus could tell she had realized his true intent, and he seemed positively delighted. "But why me?" Krile finally asked. "Why do you think I can — or _would_ — help you with this?"

"I have attempted my research with less... _hardy_ subjects, shall we say," Aulus explained, glancing at a group of large pod-like machines nearby. "The results were, well, disappointing I suppose you might say."

Krile raised an eyebrow. "Disappointing...?"

"Yes, but with your unique trait I believe _you_ are capable of surviving the process."

"They _died?"_ Krile asked with wide eyes. "You killed innocent people for _experiments?_ You are truly a monster."

"I am no monster," Aulus objected, fiercely narrowing his eyes as he approached her. "I have no intent to harm you, Scion."

Krile glared right back at him. "If you are truly no monster, then release me."

"I am no monster," Aulus repeated after a moment, "but I _am_ a man of science."

The Garlean engineer took a step back the pods as Krile watched, doing her best to keep the growing fear from showing in her features. Aulus reached a gloved hand upwards, letting it gently rest against one of the pods.

"I am a man of science," he said again quietly. "And sometimes, for the greater good, science demands sacrifice."

"Garlean conquest will _never_ be for the greater good," Krile snapped angrily.

Aulus turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Fear not, dear Scion," he said with what he probably believed was a warm smile. "I shall do my utmost to ensure you live to see the fruits of my labor."


	13. Envy (Asahi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: POST-STORMBLOOD STORY SPOILERS, IMPLICIT ANTI-INDIGENOUS SENTIMENTS (additional notes at the end)]  
Asahi has blown his cover and shown the Warrior of Light his true colors, and he is not pleased with himself.

There was a loud crack as a teacup shattered against the wall, falling to the floor in shower of porcelain shards. A low rumble spilled from behind Asahi's clenched teeth as his shoulders heaved in anger.

Asahi had one job, and it was to play nice with the Domans and the Scions so they would not discover his true intentions — intention they doubtless already suspected. But one look at the Warrior of Light's smug, self-satisfied face was all it had taken to break him.

"Even your face vexes me," Asahi had told her with a vicious sneer, and he had even gone so far as to challenge her to violence. _What were you thinking, Asahi?_ He couldn't tell if he was angrier at himself or at her. She, the one who slain his lord. The villain who had murdered Zenos yae Galvus.

Ah, Zenos. Asahi had witnessed the full force of his presence for the first time during the war in Doma, when the towering Garlean prince had seen fit to save his life. Since that day, Asahi had pledged himself to Galvus' side, though it had taken some time to see his oath realized.

"I gave my all to you, but all you could see was _her_," Asahi snarled to himself, turning away from the shattered remains of his cup. "All you could speak of was the _hunt_. You only saw those who failed to show you the proper respect. This vaunted Warrior of Light, my _dear_ sister..."

Ah yes, his beloved sister — _Yotsuyu._ She had used the skills she learned well for Zenos' enemies, only to find herself trapped and alone in his bedchambers. What was the useless girl to do other than betray her masters and pledge herself to the crown prince to save her own life? And yet Zenos saw fit to grant her the title Viceroy! _Yotsuyu! _The girl deserved a swift execution, not a reward for her cowardice. But it mattered not. Asahi would see that things would end as they should.

"_Maxima!"_ Asahi barked, crossing his arms as he waited impatiently for the Centurio's arrival. There was a small crash outside the room before the Garlean burst through the door.

"Yes, my lord?" Maxima asked, saluting the ambassador stiffly.

"More tea," Asahi ordered, his arms still crossed.

Maxima regarded him curiously. "My lord...?"

"Is it _beneath you_ to fetch tea for your ambassador?" Asahi snapped angrily, much to Maxima's surprised.

"No, my lord, let me just —" Maxima took a step toward Asahi’s desk before stopping, clearly noticing the pile of rubble against the wall. "Ah, a new cup, then."

"_Go._" Asahi rolled his eyes as the Garlean office swiftly disappeared from the room.

The Garleans might think his kin uncivilized, but theirs were no better. They were crass and crude all, save for the exceptional few individuals. Those like Zenos himself. No, there was no such thing as a civilized people. Doma was proof enough of that.

"There _will_ be a reckoning," he muttered under his breath, repeating the selfsame words he had said to the saviour of Doma. It mattered not that he had divulged his plans; she would not risk the lives of the conscripts Hien so coveted by altering — or breaking — the terms of their deal.

Asahi found a smile beginning to form on his face as he leaned back against the smooth wood of his desk. It was only a matter of time until all the pieces fell into place. Until the rats found themselves caught in the trap he had laid. Oh yes, there _would_ be a reckoning, and they would pay. The Warrior of Light, Yotsuyu... they would all pay dearly for crossing Asahi sas Brutus.

The smile grew. "I _will_ have the last laugh, Sister. Just you wait and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the writing of pre-existing Garlean characters, it can be a challenge to avoid the very clear anti-indigenous sentiments that SquareEnix has made a key part of Garlean culture, for better or worse. I did my best in this short story to avoid the common slurs that are seen within the game. I do not believe that I need to include them in the dialogue to be "accurate" just because the character uses them in the game, which is why you don't see them here even though they would have "technically" fit.


	14. Jewel (Nanamo and Raubahn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the service of the Crown to lead the newly liberated Ala Mhigo, Raubahn returns to Ul'dah to catch up with an old friend.

The sun beat down brightly over the sands of Thanalan, as it always did. A gentle breeze drifted through the cobbled streets of Ul'dah, and Nanamo was convinced it smelled of sand... if sand even _had_ a scent.

The Sultana had insisted that she meet her lunch date out amongst the people, and after a _lengthy_ discussion — an "argument" she had called it — the Sultansworn had relented, though not without several concessions on her parts. Annoyances, more like.

"I can hear you _breathing_, Captain," Nanamo complained under her breath. "Need you be _so_ close?"

"My apologies, milady," Jenlyns replied with a blush, taking several steps backward. "I only wish—"

"I know what it is you wish, Captain," Nanamo snapped impatiently. "While I appreciate your fervent service, I should appreciate it _more_ were it less obvious."

"Of course," he agreed with a nod. "You won't even know I'm here."

Nanamo snapped a finger to her lips before pointing away from her table, pleased to see the captain of the Sultansworn take the hint and attempt to blend into the shadows. The concession Nanamo had agreed to was to have a personal guard within spitting distance of her at all times. She had convinced them to dress in plainclothes, so as not to call attention to her presence, but with the man hovering mere fulms away he might as well have a sign pointing right to her.

"There you are!" boomed a familiar voice, and Nanamo all but jumped out of her chair to greet her companion.

"Raubahn, it is wonderful to hear your voice after so long a time," Nanamo greeted the former general of the Immortal Flames, gesturing for him to sit.

"It _has_ been too long, hasn't it?" he returned, graciously accepting her invitation and sitting at the table across from her. "I feared my duties might have prevented me from coming, but it appears my comrades were more than keen to see me returned to Ul'dah."

"Oh?" Nanamo asked with a hint of a smile. In truth, she had of course put them up to it, though she was certain it was an unnecessary gesture.

"Aye, Lyse all but banished me," Raubahn explained with a chuckle. "She said... well, I can't well repeat some of the things she said."

Nanamo laughed. "I knew I liked that girl."

"I truly have missed this place," Raubahn began with a light sigh. "There is a reason they call it the Jewel of the Desert. This city, its people..."

"You made the right choice, Raubahn."

"I seem to recall you made the decision for me," he reminded her with a playful smile, "although I suppose I should thank you for knowing my heart better that I know it myself."

"You were there for me and supported me when others would have happily watched me flounder and fail," Nanamo told him, reaching across the table to put a hand on his arm with a warm smile. "That I could do even an ounce of the same in return gladdens my heart."

Raubahn looked uncomfortable for a moment, and Nanamo was sure she could see a blush rise in his cheeks. It was true that he allowed her to see a softer side of himself that he denied the rest of the world. That she had brought it out of him in such a public place surely put him ill at ease. Perhaps it would be best to change the subject.

"So, how fares Ala Mhigo?"

Raubahn seemed immediately grateful. "There is still much and more to be done, but the people seem willing — nay, _eager_ — to do their part in its rebuilding."

"And what of the war with Garlemald?" Nanamo inquired, lacing her fingers together and resting them on the table. "Surely it has hampered reconstruction efforts."

"You might think so," Raubahn returned, "but even despite the distraction, rebuilding continues unabated and to plan."

Nanamo raised an eyebrow. "I am well impressed."

"I _did_ tell you never to underestimate an Ala Mhigan," Raubahn reminded her with a smirk. "Nevertheless, it would be remiss of me to pretend we have accomplished aught on our own." He dropped his voice to little more than a whisper. "We owe much to the generous contributions of the Crown."

"I know not of what you speak," Nanamo told him, an air of playfulness in her voice. She did, of course, but they were both well aware that the Syndicate would hardly approve of Ul'dah's funds being used to benefit the refugees they had so ardently impoverished for years. "I am, however, pleased to hear of your people's successes in the face of such adversity."

"And what of Ul'dah?" Raubahn countered, crossing his arms. "You seem to have done well for yourself in my absence."

"Are you surprised?" Nanamo asked with a giggle. "I should think it would put you at ease."

"Of _course_ it does," he agreed with a smile.

"Though I purported a certain degree of confidence when last we spoke, in truth I was less assured than I claimed," she admitted with a small shrug. "Papashan stepped into the role of advisor quite eagerly without so much as a request, however. Even Jenlyns," Nanamo added, her eyes flitting back to the captain, who was doing his best not to look like he was eavesdropping, "has taken to providing counsel whensoever he can."

"Truly you are well cared for," Raubahn commented, trying to avoid eye contact with the less-than-stealthy Sultansworn. "Full glad am I that I have left you in such capable and loyal hands."

"Well then, now that we have gotten the necessary pleasantries out of the way, I think it best we turn our attention to more important matters," Nanamo declared, earning a quirked eyebrow from her companion. "I have it on good authority that _you_, Raubahn Aldynn, have a secret admirer!"

"I... what?" The man seemed more than surprised at the sudden turn in conversation.

"Tell me everything," Nanamo urged, leaning on the table and resting her chin in her hands.

Raubahn leaned back in his chair, a perplexed expression on his face. "This is what you wanted to speak about?"

"Oh come off it, Raubahn," she complained, placing her hands indignantly on her hips. "In my station I scarcely get the chance to gossip about _anything_. Indulge me, won't you?"

The Flame General sighed loudly, much to Nanamo's obvious pleasure. "_Fine_, though I have only heard the rumors secondhand myself."

“Excellent!” Nanamo smiled wildly as she gleefully clapped her hands together. "Go on, then. Tell me _everything!"_


	15. Guess (Thancred and Minfilia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred finds himself in quite the predicament when he forgets the name of one of his many conquests.

"Guess who!"

Thancred tried not to panic as two hands firmly gripped his face from behind, covering both of his eyes. The voice was familiar, but... _oh gods, which one is she?_ How was he going to get himself out of _this_ one?

"Surely you must be her royal highness, Nanamo ul Namo!" he finally declared, hoping he could deflect long enough to find his way out of this predicament.

"Very funny, Thancred," the mystery woman replied with a giggle. "Come on, now, be serious."

"Such dulcet tones could only belong to, uh..." _Think, Thancred, think! _"...none other than the Fury herself!"

He breathed a silent sigh of relief as the woman laughed and released him. "You are so silly, Thancred."

As Thancred turned toward his assailant, he realized with a certain amount of dread that, even after seeing her face, he still had no idea who she was. After a brief moment to consider his options, he placed the back of his hand to his forehead as melodramatically as he could manage and pretended to be faint. "I fear that I may have lost my memory!"

"Thancred, stop playing games with Rosalynn."

Now that was a voice he _did_ recognize. "Minfilia, you never let me have any fun."

"I was enjoying it," the now less mysterious woman chimed in with a smile. "I know my dearest Thancred would never forget _me_."

Thancred laughed nervously as Minfilia approached the both of them. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Rosalynn, but might I borrow Thancred for a few minutes?" the younger girl implored. "I'll have him back to you in no time."

"Of course, little one," the woman agreed with a smile, patting Minfilia's head. The girl was clearly less than pleased with the situation, and as Rosalynn turned to leave, Minfilia flashed Thancred a look that said more than any words could.

"Thancred Waters, one of these days you're going to pull that with a woman who's smart enough to _notice_," Minfilia warned with a glare. "You're lucky I was here to rescue you from your own foolishness. _Again_."

"And have I mentioned how much I _appreciate_ it?" he asked with an innocent smile.

"Really, Thancred," Minfilia chided. "You _really_ ought to consider _growing up_."

"Curious advice, coming from a girl of but sixteen summers."

"_Thancred_," Minfilia warned, her tone firm and more than a bit irritated. She couldn't help but feel a certain amount of envy. It wasn't as though she had feelings for Thancred — not like _that_, anyway — but the fact that he would rather spend time with women whose names he couldn't even be bothered to learn instead of _her_ was... well, it was annoying.

Thancred put his arm around Minfilia and pulled her toward him as they walked, despite the pout on her face. "Those women should feel blessed to know that they have such a stalwart ally looking out for their interests."

"Would that they didn't _need_ me," she snapped back, shoving him away.

Thancred frowned as they both stopped. "What's the matter, Minfilia? Surely it is more than my usual antics."

She crossed her arms and looked away from him. "I don't know..."

"You're a bad liar, you know." Thancred stroked his chin as he thought for a moment. "Is it about your nameday?"

Minfilia's attention turned back to Thancred. "What _about _my nameday?"

"It's coming up shortly, is it not?" Thancred asked. "Just because I couldn't remember... Ros...?"

"_Rosalynn_."

"—_Rosalynn's_ name doesn't mean I won't remember your nameday."

"I appreciate the affirmation," Minfilia replied with crossed arms, "but I hadn't even _considered_ that... until now."

"When have I _ever_ forgotten you nameday?" Thancred asked with a pout of his own. "I remember what's important."

"It has _nothing_ to do with that," she assured him with a grumpy shake of her head. Should she tell him what was really bothering her, or would he think her completely mad? What would Thancred say if she told him that she'd _seen_ Rosalynn's actions before they had happened? No, she couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell _anyone_.

"Well then what can I do to cheer you up?" Thancred asked earnestly, taking a step forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Thancred, I told Rosalynn—"

"You let me worry about that," he interrupted. "I have it on good authority that the Quicksand has fresh rolanberry cheesecake."

Minfilia's eyes lit up at the mention of dessert. "Cheesecake...?"

"I had Momodi set some aside for me," Thancred added with a smirk. "Would a slice of cheesecake help raise your spirits?"

"It might," she admitted with a hint of a smile. "Rosalynn's liable to find you in the Quicksand, though."

"If she does, I'll just claim I forgot," he said with a shrug. "I’m quite easily distracted, so it's not _entirely_ untrue."

"You _have_ to remember her name on your own this time, though," Minfilia ordered, placing her hands on her hips. "If you forget again—"

"Rosalynn."

"Thancred—"

"Rosalynn Rosalynn Rosa—"

"Thancred, for gods' sake if you repeat that the _whole way back_..."

He smiled and put his arm back around her shoulder. "I would be a very different man without you in my life, Minfilia."

"Consider yourself lucky." She sighed as she leaned into him, letting him guide her back toward the Quicksand. Perhaps something sweet _would_ help take her mind off of her troubles, at least for a while...


	16. Remember (Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: SHADOWBRINGERS SPOILERS]  
Emet-Selch struggles to come to terms with what must be done to restore his people.

As he surveyed the ruins of what had once been the Allagan empire, Emet-Selch found himself distinctly devoid of any sense of satisfaction. It had been thousands of years since the fall of Amaurot, and it was the fourth time he and his brethren had brought about the destruction of the realm, and yet...

"It will become easier over time, Emet-Selch," a voice said from beside him.

"Should it be easy, Elidibus?" he asked, crossing his arms.

The Emissary was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps not, but don't forget what we're fighting for."

"As if I _could_ forget," Emet-Selch scoffed. "I spent a thousand years manipulating this empire I helped forge into utterly destroying themselves. I _have _to remember what it's all for, otherwise I won't be able to live with myself."

Elidibus chuckled lightly from beneath his mask. "You're starting to sound like _him_."

"Perhaps if we had all listened to him in the first place we wouldn't be here now," Emet-Selch spat, clenching his fist in anger. His ire was misdirected; Elidibus wasn't wrong, and he wasn't to blame. No, if Emet-Selch was to blame anyone, it would be himself. If _he_ had listened to Hythlodaeus sooner, if he had tried harder to convince the Convocation, perhaps they could have saved the city. Nay, the _world_.

But it was too late for what ifs and could have beens. The world as he had known it was gone, and the only way to bring it back was to play this game over and over again.

"This was the fourth, no?" Elidibus asked, breaking the agonizing silence between them.

"Only nine more to go," Emet-Selch confirmed with a weak smile. "I do hope you're right about it getting easier. If I have to suffer beneath this weight _nine more times_..."

* * *

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous, Hades," Hythlodaeus returned with an annoyed frown. "_We_ are the problem, don't you see?"

"You say you're being reasonable, and yet you say _this_," Hades returned, crossing his arms. "The reports have been very clear about the danger. That you seek to blame our own people is _baffling_."

"I'm not blaming them," Hythlodaeus countered. "I'm just saying that after so many years, we have forgotten the power we hold over creation. We have become complacent and have failed to consider the risk of what we do."

"Do you not personally preside over the Bureau of the Architect?" Hades asked with crossed arms, a snide expression on his face. "I should think if there was such danger you would have taken steps to avoid such an outcome."

Hythlodaeus went quiet and his gaze wilted. "I, too, was complacent in this, my friend."

Hades closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Hythlodaeus would have him believe the reports of monsters were naught but a physical manifestation of the wild imaginings of their own people. It was true that an idle thought during creation could have unintended effects, but the notion that their people were conjuring beasts on accident was too much for even Hades to swallow.

Then again, Hythlodaeus would know better than any what was and wasn't possible.

"...so you believe the reports are creations born of people's fears?"

Hythlodaeus' posture straightened as he turned back to his friend. "Yes, and if we don't do something about it, things will only get worse."

He was going to look foolish, but... "Very well, I will bring your concerns to the Convocation."

A broad smile appears on Hythlodaeus' face, and Hades barely had time to prepare himself before his friend wrapped him up in a tight hug. He grunted in annoyance as he tried to pry the other man off. "Thank you, Hades."

"I can't stand to see you so sullen," he replied indifferently, brushing his sleeve to straighten the fabric. "It's entirely unsettling."

"You will save our people, Hades," Hythlodaeus told him with a broad smile. "I believe it."

* * *

Elidibus had been right about one thing — the passage of years certainly had made things much easier.

Emet-Selch surveyed the carnage from above the fields of Carteneau with a smile. Oh, the irony that his work with the Allagans had come full circle to wreak furious vengeance upon this age. _How very efficient_.

"I daresay I could not have done better myself," he mused as he watched the lingering survivors scramble to safety.

"You could easily claim credit," Lahabrea told him, "considering the responsibility you hold for Dalamud and Bahamut both."

"Now, now, it’s hardly a contest," Emet-Selch purred with a smile. "I need not claim the prize of yet another Calamity when there are so many more to come. Speaking of which, I have an appointment to keep."

"As do I," Elidibus agreed. "Lahabrea, I assume you have things well in hand here at home?"

"Well in hand, indeed," he confirmed. "It is never too early to start the wheels of destruction from churning yet again."

Lahabrea bowed before disappearing in a swirl of darkness, leaving Emet-Selch and Elidibus to their own devices.

"Look at them," Emet-Selch muttered with a sneer. "Helpless, frail things."

"I see you no longer suffer from concerns of guilt," Elidibus mused, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I am several thousand years beyond it," he confirmed with a laugh. "To think I once thought of these insects as equals. They are but shades of what once was. They're barely even alive."

"Barely alive gives them far more credit than I would," Elidibus returned with a snort. "So, you are off to the First, then?"

Emet-Selch confirmed with a nod. "Lahabrea was right that it never too early to begin planning for the next Calamity," he explained, "and how better to plan than to go to the source."

"Or leave the Source, as it were," Elidibus added with a smirk.

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes at the joke. "I thought you a diplomat, not a comedian."

"It's been a difficult few millennia," Elidibus replied with a shrug. "If Hythlodaeus were here, he'd tell you to laugh more."

"I laugh _plenty_," Emet-Selch told him with a sneer.

"You know what I meant, _Hades_."

Emet-Selch felt his lip curl at the mention of his name. How many years had it been since he had last heard it? A hundred? A thousand? After so long, the years had all begun to bleed together.

Elidibus would not be deterred. "If we don't remember who we are, then all we do is for naught."

"There's the _annoying_ diplomat I remembered." But Elidibus was right, and Emet-Selch would do well to remember his words.

"Fare you well in the First, Hades," Elidibus said with a smile.

"And you, with... whatever it is you plan to do."

Elidibus smiled again before teleporting away, leaving Emet-Selch alone. He glanced back down at the burning wasteland before him one last time, attempting to conjure the feelings that had plagued him for so many years in the beginning of his struggle, but they would not come.

_What would Hythlodaeus think of what we're doing?_ The answer: Emet-Selch didn't care. He would bring them all back, even if his friend might not approve of his methods. Someday, everything would be back the way it was, and it would all be worth it.


	17. Keyhole (The Warriors of Darkness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warriors of Darkness have arrived in the Source, but the burden of what they must do weighs heavily on their minds.

"You can't keep calling me Ardbert!"

"All you did was remove a D," Renda-Rae reminded him with a roll of her eyes. "If you say them fast enough, you can't even tell the difference!"

"Look," Ardbert said, annoyedly placing his hands on his hips, "we're not here to talk about my creativity."

"Or lack thereof," she added quietly with a smirk. "None of you save for Branden took it seriously."

"Blanhaerz," Branden corrected quietly from across the campfire.

"What kind of name is that?" Renda-Rae asked. "The Galdjent here in this world certainly are creative with _their_ names."

"They're called Roegadyn here," Ardbert reminded her.

"As I said, _creative_."

"Look, we're here to do a job," Ardbert continued, crossing his arms. "What we call ourselves is just a means to that end."

Renda-Rae just shrugged and turned her attention back to the campfire, picking up a nearby log and tossing it onto the pile. With a huff, Ardbert sat down beside her.

"It’s like a keyhole," Braden declared after a few minutes, breaking the agonizing silence and drawing the attention of his four companions. Each one stared at him in confusion.

"What in the blazes are you talking about?" Ardbert finally asked. "What keyhole?"

"You know, when you look through a keyhole you can see what's on the other side," Branden explained, his eyes gazing off into the distance. "You see what you see, and you think you know what's on the other side of the door, but once you open it..."

"You see _everything_," Lamitt finished. She understood what he was saying, and it appeared that Ardbert had an inkling as well.

"You know as well as I do that this is the only way," the hume insisted, looking almost as if he was trying to convince _himself _instead of his friend. "The Ascian said—"

"I know what he said," Branded interrupted with frown. "We said we'd pay any price to save our home, but... I think we might have bargained with coin that wasn't ours to spend."

Ardbert started to respond, but found he had no words to ease his friend's troubled heart. They'd all be lies, anyway. They were here to destroy _this_ world to save their own. Branden was right — trading this world to save another left a sour taste in his mouth, but he could see no other way forward.

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made," Nyelbert said quietly after a moment.

Branden looked unconvinced. "We're sacrificing something that's not even _ours_."

"Do you want to just give up, then?" Renda-Rae asked, the frustration plain on her face. "I'd rather not become a villain to save the world, but if that's what it takes then that's what I'll do."

"No, I wouldn't've come if I wasn't prepared to do what needed to be done," Branden assured her with a heavy sigh, "it just... it's never going to feel right."

"It's not supposed to." Ardbert stood up and stepped closer to the fire, looking deeply into the flickering flames. "We _are_ going to be the villains of this story, both here and at home. It doesn't matter that we only ever did what we thought was right to save our friends, our people... history won't care."

"It won't matter how history remembers us," Lamitt added, smiling up at him, "as long as there _is_ a history to remember us."

Ardbert nodded solemnly in agreement. "That's all that matters."

"And we're with you, Ardbert," Branden declared with a confidence he had thus been lacking. "Whatever it takes."

"All of us," Nyelbert agreed.

"Even those of us with dull names," Rena-Rae added with a grin. It was just enough to break the tension, and the five devolved into laughter.

* * *

Ardbert stared out the window of the Warrior's room in the Pendants. As the oppressive Light poured in, he couldn't help but remember the first time he had witnessed the night sky in the Source. It had been the first of many times he had doubted his mission.

"I hope you never find out I watch you," Ardbert said with a smile, glancing over his shoulder to spy the Warrior's motionless form. She was sleeping, finally, and it wouldn't do to wake her just because _he_ was lonely. He was used to being alone, and he could talk to her just as easily while she slept as while she was awake. _Sometimes it's easier this way._

Ardbert turned around and leaned against the window sill. He crossed his arms, glancing for a moment to the table on the other side of the room. The Exarch had once again left a tray of sandwiches; it reminded him a bit of how Lamitt had constantly insisted of feeding him, even after they had journeyed to the Source.

"We're dead, Lamitt," Ardbert had told her once. "We don't _need_ to eat." Of course, she would not be deterred. It had taken them _all_ a long time to accept their fate, even though not one of them would have admitted that they hadn't been ready for the reality of what was to come.

"I still think about the Source a lot," he told the sleeping Warrior. "It was daylight, of course, when we first arrived. We were stunned at how much less bright it was. And then when night fell..." Ardbert found a smile forming on his face. The wonderment he had seen on even Nyelbert's face... "I'll never forget it."

With a gentle sigh, Ardbert pushed himself away from the window and walked toward the slumbering Warrior of Light, sitting down at the desk beside the bed. "You know, Branden was right. We let the Ascians manipulate us and were willing to slaughter you and yours for nothing but the promise of salvation from one we knew better than to trust. And yet, in the end, we found what we needed. _Who_ we needed.

"He said something one of those nights out under the stars," Ardbert continued, his gaze dropping toward the floor. "Something about bargaining with coin that wasn't ours to spend. It's funny, because that day out there in the aetherial sea, before Minfilia brought us home... Urianger said almost the exact same thing."

"Heroes always have to make impossible decisions."

Ardbert's head snapped back up to see the Warrior of Light staring at him, a warm smile on her face. He felt a blush rise in his cheeks. "How long've you been awake?"

"Long enough," she told him with a gentle laugh. "How long's it been, Ardbert? You really ought to stop feeling so sorry for yourself."

Despite his intent to remain stoic, Ardbert couldn't help but smile. She always had a way of bringing that out in him, didn't she? "Branden once said that the promise the Ascians made was like looking through a keyhole at what you thought was the truth."

"But the truth is always bigger than we think, isn't it?"

"Exactly," Ardbert nodded. "I never gave the man enough credit. He really was the best of us."

"No one can blame you for wanting to save the world," she told him, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and stretching. "You know, it's a shame you can't help me with those sandwiches."

A laugh escaped. "Food is definitely near the top of the things I miss about being properly alive."

"In that case, I'll just have to have some on your behalf."

Ardbert quirked and eyebrow. "If you can eat all of those sandwiches—"

"If?" She had clearly taken it as a challenge.

"Well, in that case I just hope no one's looking through _your_ keyhole," Ardbert finally responded with a grin. "I'd hate for you to get a reputation."

"Oh, it's _far_ too late for that, my friend," she told him with a laugh. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a tray of sandwiches to devour."


	18. Whisper (Fordola and Arenvald)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Fordola would much prefer to spend her time in her cell alone, Arenvald takes it upon himself to visit her yet again.

It was quiet inside the barren cell, save for the sounds of water dripping in the corner and Fordola's grunts of exertion as she trained. Even those were fairly quiet; she had no interest in attracting the attention of her guard.

Fordola growled under her breath as she heard the heavy cell door being unlocked. As she got to her feet and turned to meet her intruder, she rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

"Hello again, Fordola," Arenvald greeted her in his normal irritatingly cheerful manner. "I've brought you lunch."

"Why?" she asked with a sneer.

"Because it's afternoon and I thought you might be hungry," he explained, holding out a sandwich.

"No, you oaf, why are you _here?_" Fordola clarified, crossing her arms and glancing at the food in his outstretched hand. "That sandwich is awfully _small_."

Arenvald stared at her for a moment before looking down at his own hand. "Well, it's... I mean..."

"It's what?" Fordola prodded, doing her best to hide her amusement. She knew _exactly_ what had happened.

"_Fine_, I got hungry on the way over." The boy was blushing, and it took all of Fordola's discipline to keep herself from smiling in amused satisfaction.

Fordola snatched the remaining sandwich out of his hand and unwrapped it, making a face at the blatant bite mark on its end. She shrugged lightly before taking a bite herself. "Didn't bring your pet Warrior of Light with you this time?"

"You know I don't need an excuse to visit," Arenvald countered, his arms crossed. It almost looked like he was pouting.

"We both know that's a lie," she returned, her mouth half full of bread. "What do you _want_, Ala Mhigan?"

He was silent for a moment, but finally Arenvald relented. "There was something about what you said the other day that bothered me," he admitted. "About... you know, your Echo."

Oh, _that_. She felt her jaw clench in annoyance as she was reminded of the "gift" that fool of a Garlean scientist had given her. "I don't know what your Echo is like," Fordola finally told him, "but this... _thing_ I have is a curse, not a gift."

Arenvald crossed his arms and looked at her. "Tell me."

"Why?" she countered with her usual sneer. "So you can pity me and look at me like I'm broken?"

"You're not broken, Fordola," he returned with a hint of annoyance. "No more than any of the rest of us."

"Then what do you care?" Fordola spat. "You keep coming here and I keep telling you where to stick your righteous concern, and you just _keep coming_. Why?"

"I was terrified the first time," Arenvald explained. "Happened when I was just a boy. Thought I was losing my mind, though after the second time I got bitter. If this _gift_ I suddenly had could help me avoid trouble, why hadn't it helped me back home?"

Arenvald's eyes flicked upward, almost imperceptibly, but Fordola caught it. She didn't know what had happened to him, but the fact that Arenvald was part Garlean was no secret. After all, the boy couldn't help but announce it to the world _himself_ at every opportunity. Fordola might not know the details, but she could take a guess at how that and his ever-present face paint might be connected.

"And what do you think _mine_ is like?" she finally asked him. "You, what, have a convenient vision every now and again? See something to help you down the line? That Garlean _bastard_ ruined me. I see everything. Everyone's pain, everyone's anguish, just is if it were my own. And I _caused_ it."

"I... I had no idea it was that bad."

"And even when I'm not seeing it, I feel... whispers in the back of my mind," she continued turning away from him and looking down at the cell floor. "You once said I would give up everything to get what I want... and you were right. But this bloody curse is the price, and it wasn't worth it."

"And _you_ said ideals didn't motivate you," Arenvald reminded her, "but I distinctly recall you saying you wanted to make the dead's sacrifice worth it by doing some good with your gi— Er, with your Echo."

"What, did you take notes or something?" Fordola asked under her breath. Gods, could he be _annoying_. "You still haven't explained why you keep coming here."

Arenvald was silent for a moment before he finally answered. "Because you deserve to have someone who cares."

Fordola hoped it was dark enough in the cell that he couldn't see the blush in her cheeks. "You can't just _decide_ to care about someone, you fool."

"Maybe not," he replied with a chuckle. "I think part of it is that you and I both got a raw deal in Ala Mhigo during the occupation. When I think about you, I think... it could have been me. It was only luck we ended up walking different paths."

"What's your _point?_"

"You know, as much as you pretend to hate everyone and everything, I know you've got a good heart underneath it all," Arenvald told her. "Don't bother trying to claim you don't. I've seen you fight, and I've seen you risk your life for people who'd just as soon watch you hang for what you've done. True villains don't do that."

"You're irritating, you know that?" Fordola got back down on the floor with a roll of her eyes and resumed her sit-ups.

"I know you try to be cruel to me so I'll stop coming back," he told her, crouching down on the floor next to her, "but I'm just as stubborn as you are. And I know you're not beyond redemption."

"...damn Ala Mhigans."

"That's right," Arenvald agreed with a nod and a grin. "_We_ are Ala Mhigans, and we don't give up."

"You're a fool," Fordola grumbled as she continued her training. Arenvald shook his head, still smiling, before getting to his feet and heading to leave. "See you next week, Lentinus."

As he heard her words, Arenvald stopped just short of the door. He stood there for a long moment, then finally continued out of the cell.

Fordola smiled to herself as he disappeared. She'd never _ever_ admit it to him — or to anyone, for that matter — but maybe he wasn't so bad after all. And maybe he was right. Maybe there _was_ hope for her.


	19. Ruler (Zenos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the war for succession rages in Garlemald, Zenos finds himself bored, as usual.

"What makes you think I have any desire to rule?"

Few would so much as consider refusing an order from Varis yae Galvus, but Zenos held no fear of the man, for better or worse. After all, Varis was his father, and he was Varis' heir. His father was certain he would claim victory in the war for Garlemald’s throne, and he would hardly risk _another _war of succession by punishing his heir in any meaningful way. The frustrated expression on the man's face made it clear that he understood this precarious position as well.

"Zenos, you are my _son_ and you will be the heir to this Empire," Varis reminded him in as calm a manner as he could muster. "You do not have a _choice_ in this matter, so I suggest you start taking your position seriously."

"Rather bold of you to assume _you_ will be the heir to this Empire, don't you think?" Zenos responded, the words dripping with disdain. Varis' face grew a deeper shade of red, and Zenos knew had he been _anyone_ else, the high legatus would likely have killed him where he stood. If he even _could_. Young as he was, Zenos was gifted enough in combat that he could certainly defend himself, if not defeat his father outright.

"You will show _respect_," Varis snarled, standing to his full height. It was a wasted gesture, as the two men were quite nearly the same size.

"Respect is reserved for those who have earned it," Zenos replied dispassionately. "Perhaps if you spent less of your time in this palace and actually joined your men out on the field and tasted of their victory, of the enemy's _blood_, then I might show you the respect you believe you deserve."

Varis' anger was now only barely contained. His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists and stared at his son with a burning rage that was normally reserved for only the greatest of his enemies. "_Get out of my sight._"

"Gladly, _your Eminence_," Zenos answered with a bow. His lip curled up into a smile as he turned to leave the room; he always took some perverse pleasure in angering his father. The man was such a bore, otherwise, and knowing that he could not afford to act on his anger somehow made it all the sweeter. To see a man of such power be rendered utterly powerless...

"My lord!"

Zenos glanced over his shoulder to address the intruding voice. No sooner had he stepped outside the audience chamber than he was to be accosted by...? "Who _are_ you?"

The man stopped short, his eyes going wide. "I-I'm so sorry, your-your lordship... er, your highness? Your eminence?"

"Do not annoy me," Zenos growled. "I have killed men for less."

"O-of course, my lord," the man replied, visibly shaken. He offered a crisp Garlean salute before continuing. "I come bearing a message from the Viceroy of Ala Mhigo."

"Hm, Baelsar, eh?" Gaius van Baelsar was one of the few imperial legatuses that Zenos didn't find _completely_ tiresome. The man was annoyingly loyal to his father, but that did mean his loyalty extended to Zenos as well, which had its uses. And he was vastly more gifted in combat than most, which certainly worked in his favor.

"His Lordship wishes to speak to you at your earliest convenience," the messenger continued.

Zenos crossed his arms. "Well, do you have a linkpearl for me, or shall I send a message by carrier pigeon?"

"Of course, I have the linkpearl waiting for you," the messenger replied, trying not to look as shaken as he was. "I did not think you would wish to take such a call in mixed company."

"Finally, something intelligent comes from your lips." Zenos gestured toward the door, and the messenger happily and _quickly_ led him to a private antechamber. Inside he was supplied with a linkpearl and, more importantly, privacy. He placed the linkpearl to his ear. "Gaius van Baelsar, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"The pleasure is all mine," the legatus returned. "How fares your father?"

"I am certain you did not request an audience to ask after the high legatus," Zenos said by way of a response. Gaius clearly took the hint.

"That is true, I did not," he confirmed. "I have a proposition for you, which I think you might find in your wheelhouse, so to speak."

Zenos raised an eyebrow. "You have my attention."

"As I'm sure you well know, your father recalled the VIth to help bolster his claim to throne," Gaius began. "This leaves Doma in the precarious position of having little Garlean oversight. It seems the rebels have become emboldened in in our absence. And, as you may also be aware, the XIIth Legion is currently without a legatus."

"Your proposal certainly has merit," Zenos told him flatly, "but my father will never _give_ me the XIIth."

"You let me see to that," Gaius returned. "If I can arrange it, are you interested?"

Zenos was silent for a moment. It _was_ an interesting proposition, and one that was like to keep him occupied for some time. "_Can_ you arrange it?"

"I have Varis' ear," Gaius assured him. "If you want the XIIth, it shall be yours."

"Very well, do what you must," Zenos replied with a hint of a smile.

"Good, I think you may be just what we need on that front," Gaius said, clearly pleased. "Regula is a talented leader, but he's not bold enough to do what must be done."

"Oh, I am sure that will not be a problem once I arrive," Zenos assured him with a smile. "Do what you must and keep me informed."

"I will be in contact again soon, my lord." And with that, Gaius cut the connection.

It would not be long before Varis approached his son with the brilliant idea to send him to the Far East in command of the XIIth Imperial Legion. An idea that was entirely his, or so he claimed. And as Zenos stood aboard an Imperial airship bound for Othard, he smiled to himself. There was nothing he liked more than the Hunt, and soon these Doman rebels would be his prey.


	20. Convoy (Bertliana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leading the first group of refugees from Little Ala Mhigo back to Gyr Abania, Bertliana is tasked with leading the rest of her people home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is in reference to the Stormblood side quest chain beginning with Dreaming of Home.

As dusk began to fall upon Rhalgr's Reach, Bertliana drew a clean cloth across the smooth metal of her blade. It had seen less action on this trip than on the last, for a blessing, but she knew the second leg of the journey would be the more difficult.

After their first journey from Little Ala Mhigo north to Gyr Abania, Bertliana had been given charge over leading the remaining Ala Mhigans home. She had been more than pleased to accept the responsibility, and now after a half dozen trips back and forth to their homeland, she was on what would be her last for the foreseeable future.

The trip itself took several days, and as the convoy grew larger and its participants less hearty, the trip grew longer. And so they had stopped to camp in the Reach, whose denizens were more than pleased to welcome them home.

"Bertliana, there you are!" a small voice floated up from behind her. She turned to see a young girl of no more than eight summers approaching quickly. Her name was Gellinda, though the other children simply called her Gelly. Bertliana smiled as the child happily climbed up to sit on a crate beside her next to the roaring campfire.

"How are you getting on, Gelly?" Bertliana asked, putting away her sword. "Are the folks in the Reach treating you with kindness?"

"Oh yes, all of them," the child said with a happy nod. "Everyone here is so nice, and they're so happy to see us!"

"And did Talebot fetch you something to eat?" Bertliana was happy to see Gelly nod in the affirmative; it had been the _one_ job she had given the lad, and if he had forgotten to feed the children, she had some very choice words ready for him.

The child's face suddenly twisted into a frown. "Bertliana, why didn't Gundobald come with us?"

Bertliana found herself mirroring Gelly's expression. It made sense that she would want to know why he had chosen to remain behind. Gelly was not the first child to grow up in Little Ala Mhigo bereft of her parents, and in their absence she and many of the other children had been raised communally by most of the adults in the settlement. And, as the de facto leader of Little Ala Mhigo, none had shown more love and care toward the children than Gundobald.

"Gundobald is a good and wise man," Bertliana began, placing a hand on Gelly's cheek. "You see, not everyone is able to make this journey home, like we are. And Gundobald would never leave any of our friends alone in Little Ala Mhigo."

"So, he's taking care of them?" Gelly asked curiously. "Will... will I ever see him again?"

"Of course you will," a new voice bellowed from behind them. Bertliana looked up to see a man and a woman approach.

"Really, Talebot?" Gelly asked with a big smile. "You promise?"

"I promise," the man declared with a grin as he crouched down beside them before ruffling the girl’s hair. "Now go off and play with the other kids, eh?"

"You don't know that he'll ever actually leave that place," Bertliana reminded him with a frown as Gelly disappeared from view.

"Oh, come on, Bert," the woman interjected, plopping down in the dirt beside her. "You know that old goat won't stay there forever."

"Aye, once the elderly die off he'll come 'round."

"For gods' sake Talebot." Bertliana swatted at the young man beside her, just barely missing.

"What?"

"You can't just _say_ that," she told him with an annoyed frown.

He shrugged. "It's true, though."

"You don't need to always say everything that comes to mind," the other woman insisted.

"Don't pretend you weren't thinkin' it too, Adalind."

"You're both lucky you're useful otherwise I'd've left you with Gundobald," Bertliana grumbled, tossing a stick into the fire.

"You'd be bored without us," Adalind told her, leaning into the younger woman with a grin. Bertliana rolled her eyes before gently shoving her away.

"Would you two get a room already?" Talebot laughed, pushing himself to his feet. "Just make sure you're not late in the mornin', eh?"

"You're a swine, Tal." Adalind turned her attention back to Bertliana as Talebot began to walk away. "Really, though, Gundobald will come back to Ala Mhigo eventually."

"I hope so," Bertliana replied. "The man deserves to go home."

"The best thing we can do to help make that happen is get everybody _else_ home," Adalind assured her, wrapping her arms around Bertliana's waist.

"The next leg of the journey's the difficult one," Bertliana reminded her, resting her chin against Adalind's head. "We'll have to cross through the Peaks and then into the Lochs..."

"You worry too much, Bert."

"That's _literally_ my job," the younger woman laughed. "I do all the worrying so _you_ all make it home safely."

Adalind snorted in response. "We can do some of the worrying for you."

"Oh please, you don't even know _how_ to worry," Bertliana accused with a laugh. "And Talebot doesn't have the attention span to worry about anything but his lunch."

"You know, I miss fun Bert," Adalind complained. "Can I talk to _her _for a bit?"

Bertliana chuckled lightly. "Sod off, Addy."

"That's a no, then?"

"You can talk to her once we get to Ala Mhigo," Bertliana offered with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "Until then, I'll have to do."

"I guess that's fine." Adalind raised her head to place a gentle kiss on Bertliana's cheek. "Just another reason to look forward to finally going home."


	21. Dear (Thancred & Ryne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events in the Empty, Ryne finds herself alone at the cafe, thinking too hard about too many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for the Eden's Verse quest line.

Ryne sat in the cafe in the Crystarium, absentmindedly chewing on a biscuit as she watched the crowds mill about. It was busy there - it was _always_ busy there. As busy as the Crystarium could get, anyway. She enjoyed watching other people go about their business and live their lives, despite the overpowering din of dozens of people speaking at once.

It had been nearly a half bell since Gaia had left. Though the other girl had urged - nay, quite nearly _pleaded_ \- her friend to join her, Ryne had opted to stay behind. For some reason it was relaxing for her to simply observe the others in solitude.

"You wouldn't understand," Ryne had told Gaia. "Sometimes I just... need to be by myself."

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't understand," the other girl scoffed, with a roll of her eyes. "Fine, whatever. I'll see you later."

And so Ryne sat, alone, eating her biscuit.

"There you are."

A sigh escaped the girl's lips. She didn't have to turn around to identify the intruder - his voice was plenty enough to give him away. "Thancred," she said. Or accused, maybe.

"I thought maybe we should talk," the man returned, "which has been difficult, since you've been _avoiding me_."

Ryne finally turned to look at him. "And so your first instinct was to barge in here and find me?"

A smile wound its way onto Thancred's face. A remnant of happier times, unbeknownst to the girl. "If you ask Y'shtola, she'll tell you I was never good at taking hints."

Ryne couldn't help but smile. "Are you really here to lecture me again, Thancred?"

"Gods no," the man laughed, taking a seat at the table and glancing at the plate in front of her. "You going to eat all of those...?"

"Go ahead," she offered, pushing the plate of biscuits toward him with a light sigh. Thancred needed no further encouragement to shove two of them into his mouth, prompting a laugh from his companion.

"So-" he began, nearly choking on the remnant crumbs of the biscuits. "_So_, I've been thinking..."

Ryne snorted. "Dangerous."

Thancred pointed a finger at the girl accusingly, but for a blessing didn't otherwise acknowledge the comment. He took a sip from an abandoned glass of water, much to Ryne's annoyance, before turning his attention back to her. "So anyway, I've been thinking about what happened in the Empty."

"Here we go," Ryne said to herself with a roll of her eyes. "I've said a thousand times in a thousand different ways that _I'm sorry_."

"I wasn't going to _scold_ you, Ryne," Thancred replied with a frown. "You... had good intentions."

"And yet somehow this sounds like the start of a lecture," she returned, crossing her arms.

"It's not, I promise," Thancred assured her with a laugh. "Look, I'm probably the last person that should be having this conversation with you, seeing as how I didn't really know Ysayle, but..."

Ryne's brow furrowed as Thancred trailed off, clearly deep in thought. She knew from their time together that serious conversations were difficult for him no matter the context, but something about this felt different.

"Ysayle believed very strongly in certain things," Thancred began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "She was a patriot in the way that people who _claim_ they're patriots would decry."

"I think I know what you mean by _that_," Ryne returned with a sneer. She _definitely_ knew the type, after her time in Eulmore.

"Ysayle was fierce, loyal, and... surprisingly soft, as I hear."

Ryne wasn't expecting _that_. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Thancred began, a smirk leaping to his face, "I hear she had a love of all things fluffy."

"Flu–??" Ryne was interrupted by her own unbidden.

"I think you two have a lot in common," Thancred continued, his expression turning to a warm smile. "I just... I wanted you to know that my reaction when you said you wanted to be the vessel for Shiva was out of-"

"Love?" Ryne asked, interrupting him.

"Fear," Thancred corrected, his face suddenly stony and serious. "But love too, I suppose. I was afraid, because I had heard what happened to Ysayle and I... I don't know what I would do if something like that happened to you."

"You were afraid...?" It shouldn't have surprised her. Ryne had seen fear in Thancred before, but...

"I'm absolute shit at showing it," he continued, looking away. "I know that, and there's no excuse for how I've treated you, but... you _are_ important to me. More than you could ever understand."

"I get it, you-"

It was Thancred's turn to interrupt. "Don't say I think of you as Minfilia."

Ryne looked into his eyes and saw a pain she hadn't expected.

"I loved Minfilia like family," Thancred told her, "and I love _you _like family. And you are _different people_."

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but shut it when no words would come.

"One day I'm going convince you," Thancred told her with a smile. "I wish I was better at explaining how I feel, but as a bard apparently that's the one thing I'm _not_ good at."

"I thought feelings were _all_ that bards were good at expressing," Ryne countered with an impish smirk. The smile only grew as a blush rose to Thancred's cheeks.

"Look, Ryne, you may not be my daughter, but-"

"It's alright, I won't make you answer that one," she told him with a laugh. "Speaking of _daughters_, did you see Gaia on your way here?"

Thancred blinked. "Speaking of– what??"

"You know how it is," Ryne told him with a giggle. "Some people collect cats, other people collect teenagers."

"No, no, no," Thancred objected strenuously. "One of you is _plenty._"

"Too late," she told him with a grin, getting up from her chair. "By the way, I put those biscuits on your tab."

Thancred stood so fast that the chair tumbled over behind him. "You little... _pixie!"_

Ryne's jaw dropped in mock horror. "Rude!"

Thancred held his position for a moment before completely losing his composure and falling into a fit of laughter. It wasn't long before Ryne joined in.

"I'm going to miss you when you leave, Thancred."

The bard's smile weakened, but didn't entirely leave his face. "Don't think too much on that."

Ryne simply smiled in return. "More biscuits?"

"I guess," Thancred replied with a sigh, reaching down to right the chair. "You can put those on my tab too."


	22. Rotten (Leofard and Diabolos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: IMPLIED ALCOHOLISM]  
Leofard broods alone in the parrock, but he is confronted by a familiar and unwelcomed voiced.

Leofard tipped back the bottle in his hand, letting the contents slide down his somehow parched throat. As he tossed the now empty vessel aside, he noted the number of its fellows that littered the floor. Too many to count at a glance, and a glance was all he was willing to give.

There was a tingle at the back of his neck that Leofard had been trying to ignore for hours. It was something most people might think nothing of, but to him it was a constant nagging reminder that something — _someone_ — was watching him.

"Get lost," he finally growled under his breath, reaching for another bottle. With one angry motion he twisted off the cap and placed the cold glass to his lips, smiling as the precious liquid trickled into his mouth and down his throat. It was a warm familiar feeling. A welcome feeling.

"I am not here," a voice purred in his ear, and though he knew no one was there he swatted the empty air nonetheless.

"I said _get lost_," Leofard repeated angrily, looking all about the room.

It was empty, of course.

"Thou speakest to phantoms," the voice continued, as if to taunt him. "Am I but a figment of thy imagination? Perhaps of thy regret, or thy guilt?"

Leofard felt his lip twist into a sneer. "Shut up."

"Thy ire toward Diabolos doth distract thee from the truth."

"You _are_ Diabolos, you bloody rotten demon," Leofard snarled, jumping up from his chair and whipping his head around to scan the room. "Why don't you come out and we can settle this once and for all?"

"I am not here," the voice repeated. "Thou hearest thy regrets and thy pain. Nothing more, and nothing less."

Leofard clenched his jaw and he could feel his teeth grind as he continued to look about the room. One thing was certain — no one was there. No one in the physical sense, at least. He couldn't claim to be a mage, or an aetherologist, or a man of any kind of particular learning who might be able to make sense of what this disembodied voice claimed. But all he heard was _Diabolos_. That thrice-damned Voidsent what tried to kill them all. And...

"...is it about her?"

He wasn't sure why he was entertaining the demon's claims. Diabolos could not be trusted. He was no aetherologist and no scholar, but he knew enough to know they had only banished the bastard back to the Void. He wasn't dead, so it wasn't impossible that he could be back. But for some reason... for some reason he _believed_...

"The truth is the truth," the voice continued, "thy acceptance notwithstanding."

"If you're not that bloody bastard Diabolos, then _who are you_ and _why are you here?"_ Leofard finally barked, having fully lost what little patience he had. "What do you _want_ from me?"

"Acknowledge thy regrets," the voice commanded, and before Leofard could answer there was a flash of light bright enough to force him to shield his eyes. When finally, his eyes focused, he felt his breath catch in his throat. A figure stood before him, but it was not that of the demon lord. It was...

"...Raimille...?"

"You've kept my portrait," she mentioned with a warm smile as she looked above the bed to see the massive painting in her likeness. Leofard looked on, slack jawed, as her eyes surveyed the room.

"This isn't real," he breathed under his breath. "You can't... you can't _possibly _be real."

"I am not," Raimille agreed with a nod, "but I am as real as your memories."

"...this is some godsdamned trick from that bloody Voidsent," Leofard accused after a moment, "isn't it?"

Raimille took a step forward and reached out, gently taking Leofard's face in her hand. His first instinct, of course, was to recoil. After all, what was this but a cheap facsimile of his mother? But something kept him from pulling away.

"You banished him, my son," Raimille reminded him, the smile not fading from her delicate features. "You have banished _all_ of the evil you have faced, save for that in your own heart."

Quite nearly without his consent, Leofard felt himself slam the bottle down on the table. Thankfully it was not enough to shatter the vessel, but a fair amount of its contents splashed out in protest. "_That is enough, shade,_" Leofard barked. "I don't know who or what you are, but I will not be baited by you."

"Know you of the people of Gridania?" Raimille asked after a moment. Leofard's featured softened; this was certainly not among the responses he had anticipated. "The people of the Shroud worship the elementals, yes?"

"...I guess," Leofard admitted, his face furrowed in confusion. Where was she going with this...? "Wait, are you saying you're an _elemental?"_

The figure in Raimille's form smiled. "You understand."

Leofard felt his stomach drop. He knew it wasn't Raimille. He _knew_ it wasn't Raimille. And yet the confirmation was just... "Why are you doing this to me?" he finally asked, his face twisted in anguish.

"We elementals are ageless," she explained. "We are endless. We see all, experience all. We knew Raimille just as we have known countless other mortals over the ages."

"If you've lived so many years and known so many people, then why do you care about _her_?" Leofard asked indignantly, crossing his arms and staring down the figure with the face of his dead mother. _Why do you have to hurt me like this?_ That was what he wanted to ask.

"You think yourself responsible," she answered matter-of-factly. "You blame yourself for that which nature itself has done."

Leofard stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. It was true that he blamed himself for not having done more. He always believed that if he had tried harder, perhaps Raimille might have lived. But why would an elemental care?

"It cannot be explained in a way that you can understand."

Leofard arched an eyebrow. "So you can read my thoughts too?"

Raimille smiled. "It is a complicated matter."

"Not creepy at all," Leofard muttered under his breath. "So, what, you've lived thousands of years and you decided out of the blue to take pity on me because I feel bad?"

"That is a crude way to describe it, but... perhaps," the shade admitted. "If that is what it takes to convince you, then sure."

Leofard turned toward the portrait on the wall, still standing tall above his bed. "You want me to believe I shouldn't blame myself."

"You should not," Raimille agreed. "You were a child, and she could not be saved even had you the talent and the resources."

Leofard continued to stare at the portrait. "Do you think saying that will fix things?"

"No," the shade admitted, "but perhaps it will sow the seeds to allow you to eventually find peace."

It was then that Leofard realized that it was not Diabolos that was rotten. He was only what he was made to be, after all. No, it was Leofard that had rotted. By no fault of his own, circumstance had sown the seeds of doubt and discord, and he had unknowingly allowed them to fester for years.

"Not my fault, hm?" he muttered to himself, still fixated on the portrait. "Well, maybe one of these days I'll believe that."

Though he could not see it, the shade smiled. "Then our work here is done."

He risked turning toward her. "Did you really know her?" he finally asked.

The elemental nodded. "We knew her heart."

"Did..." Leofard almost dared not ask, but he took a deep breath and called on his courage. "Did she love me...?"

There was a moment of silence between the two, and then the apparition smiled. "She could not have loved you more had you been her own flesh and blood."

A smile slowly grew on Leofard's face, but after a moment it faded. "If all you wanted to tell me was that my mother loved me, then... why did you have to pretend to be _Diabolos?"_

The phantom smiled — no, _grinned_. "I had to get your attention somehow, didn't it?"

Leofard found his face twisting into an amused smile of its own. "You aren't all that different than we are, are you?"

"Mayhap not," the elemental returned with a grin of her own. "Fare you well, Leofard Myste."

"And you," he said as Raimille faded into the aether from whence she had come. Leofard looked up to the portrait again, and for the first time in a long time he earnestly smiled.


End file.
